


Salt and Vinegar

by LazyDandyLion



Category: EastEnders (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:40:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 95,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24311452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LazyDandyLion/pseuds/LazyDandyLion
Summary: Eighteen months after the death of his beloved boyfriend Chris, Callum Highway arranges to meet a mysterious stranger in a Walford nightclub for a one night stand that will change his life.  (A Ballum AU, set in the summer of 2019)
Relationships: Callum "Halfway" Highway/Ben Mitchell
Comments: 148
Kudos: 347





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Does the world really need another Ballum AU? Possibly not, but the plot for this fic has been lurking around my head for months now - long before boat crashes and Christmas break ups and what not - and a global pandemic and associated lockdown seemed like a good opportunity to get the whole thing finally plotted out and written up.
> 
> Hope everyone's staying safe and well.

**Tuesday 4 June 2019**

Walford East.

Callum paused as he filed out through the ticket barriers, glancing up at the sign on the wall despite the fact he’d already checked the sign on the platform twice. Definitely Walford East. By some miracle, he’d got on the right train, on the right line, going in the right direction and got off at the right station.

Unless it was meant to be Walford West. Or Walford South. _Was_ there a Walford South…?

Brow furrowed, he started to pull his phone out of his jacket pocket to check Google Maps, before wincing as the movement brought his elbow into sharp contact with one of the people trying to duck past him.

“ _Move_ , would ya?!” A young woman with platinum hair, a bright fluorescent crop top and a small blonde girl in tow glared at him as she shoved past, and Callum flushed to the roots of his hair.

“Sorry, sorry…” Callum mumbled in apology to no one in particular, belatedly aware that he’d planted himself like a lamppost in Narnia in the middle of a busy tube station. He allowed himself to be pulled along with the flow of commuters into the bright evening sunshine before finding a quiet spot to one side and looking up the directions again.

Amazingly, he was right, it was Walford East; meaning he was now a mere two minute walk from his destination, and – he checked the time again – only ninety minutes earlier than he needed to be there. Callum groaned, rolling his eyes skyward…then stopped himself, realising the homeless woman sat almost at his feet with a hand-written cardboard sign was giving him a decidedly odd look. He flashed her the calmest, nicest, ‘I’m dead-normal, me, honest’ smile he could muster, pulled out his wallet and dropped a fiver into her cup, then headed off down the street with what he hoped was the look of someone who had a purposeful destination.

It looked like a fairly busy area he’d found himself in – shops, bars, restaurants. There was bound to be an anonymous café or somewhere he could kill time for a couple of hours, right?

He hadn’t meant to be this early. But he was nervous. Off the scale nervous. If he was honest, Callum didn’t think he’d ever been this nervous, and he was including every moment of his Army career in that. So he’d been terrified that his nerves would lead him to do something, well, a bit ‘Halfway’ as Stuart or some of his Army mates would no doubt have put it, like get on the wrong tube train in the wrong direction and end up in completely the wrong part of London. Honestly, you do something twice and people act like it’s a pattern...

Callum wandered without any clear plan of where he was going, beginning to worry that he hadn’t passed anything like the quiet little café or friendly pub he was hoping for – there was a bookies, a pharmacy, some place that looked as though it could have been promising but was closed and clearly undergoing a refurbishment (a sign read “Coming soon: The Prince Albert!”) – when to his delight, an unassuming little building full of deep-fried magic appeared in his left-field view. The lettering in the window proclaimed it to be Beale’s Plaice, a fish and chip shop, and as he bounded inside with delight, stomach rumbling, he offered up a quick prayer of thanks to the mysterious Beale who’d come to his aid in his hour of need.

Chips from a proper chip shop, soaked in salt and vinegar. Food of the gods. If a portion of chips couldn’t calm his nerves and settle his stomach, what could?

The place was quiet, even for a Tuesday evening, and Callum was able to quickly acquire a portion of chips, making his way out of the shop and across to a convenient bench under a war memorial to eat them in peace.

He hadn’t meant to rush out of the flat without eating any dinner, but he hadn’t expected Vicky to come home from work early either. She’d come in the door, looking tired and dejected from her shift, until she’d seen Callum with his best shirt on, carefully arranging his hair in the mirror, and had instantly cheered up. Delight had been written all over her face as she’d asked if he had a date, and what could he say but ‘yes’? Knowing full well that she’d meant a real date, a proper date, where you go out for a meal or to the cinema or somewhere and spend time getting to know each other, not...whatever you’d call this.

So he’d rushed out the door, preventing her from asking any follow-up questions as well as maintaining the fiction that this was the kind of date where you meet at a civilised time of the evening. It was only once he was on the tube to Walford that it occurred to him that he could have just said he was meeting someone for a drink, right? That was a thing people did, meeting up later in the evening for a casual drink? That was the ridiculous thing, he was so new to this whole thing he didn’t even _know_.

Callum forced down another chip, admitting to himself that maybe salty snacks of fried grease, delicious as they were, weren’t the best choice of evening meal with the nerves and guilt currently churning in his stomach. He hated deceiving Vicky, even by omission. She was Chris’s sister and she’d been nothing but brilliant to him in these last eighteen months; they’d held each other up in those first, awful months after Chris’s death, she’d given him a place to stay and supported him through his own rehab, helped him with forms for benefits and compensation from the Army when his brain was so befuddled with grief and despair he didn’t know which way was up. They’d become as close as family in their shared pain. And it was Vicky who’d encouraged him to start dating again; or to start dating for the first time, really. He’d dated a few girls before the army – before Chris, before coming out – but those had been sham, awkward play dates, not the real thing.

He wasn’t sure whether she’d actually intended him to meet anyone, to start any kind of relationship, or if she’d just wanted him out of the flat occasionally and meeting people. Either way it had been a disaster of epic proportions. And in a roundabout way it had led him here. Lying to her.

Sighing, Callum licked the last of the salt off his fingers and looked around for a bin to dispose of the wrappings. What now? He still had – he checked the time again – nearly an hour to kill, and had already read the more entertaining of the graffiti carved into the war memorial. He was thirsty after the chips and a bit of Dutch courage wouldn’t hurt, but he couldn’t see a pub anywhere in sight and he didn’t fancy wandering the streets for hours on a wild goose chase. There was always the club, E20, where he was supposed to be meeting his…date, but that probably meant loud music and expensive bottled beer that tasted like lemonade rather than a bit of peace and quiet and decent draught beer on tap.

 _You’ve got a smartphone, moron_ , said a nasty little voice in his head that could have been his brother or his father, and he chuckled sheepishly to himself as he dug it out.

“Forget my own head if it wasn’t screwed on!” he said, smiling at a woman walking by who gave him a startled look and quickly scuttled past.

Checking Google Maps again, it looked like there was a pub not too far away, the Queen Victoria. It had mixed reviews…ouch, _decidedly_ mixed reviews – he peered in consternation at one reviewer who claimed to have been short-changed by the “vinegar-faced old battleaxe behind the bar who threatened to cut my knackers off and feed them to the dog” – but other reviewers claimed it was a warm and friendly family-run pub, if a bit too fond of their karaoke machine, and most importantly it served beer and was only round the corner. Besides, it couldn’t possibly be any worse than the pubs his dad or brother used to drag him to in Canning Town when he was only a kid, and he was a (mostly) out and proud 28-year-old ex-soldier now.

He pulled himself to his feet, found a bin for his chip wrappings, and set out to find the Queen Victoria public house.

* * *

“Halfway?!”

Blinking, it took Callum a moment to adjust to the dim light of the pub from the summer sunshine outside; and the sound of his own nickname was so bizarre in that setting it took him a moment to realise where it was coming from. Surely he couldn’t have heard what he thought he’d heard...?

“As I live and breathe, Halfway Highway! What the bleeding hell are you doing here, son?”

“M-mick?” Callum stammered in astonishment as he found himself being pulled into a massive bear hug.

Mick Carter pulled back and held him at arm’s length, grinning from ear to ear. “I don’t believe it. The size of you! What were they feeding ya in the army, Miracle-Gro?”

“Um...” Callum was aware he’d frozen to the spot, mouth gaping and eyes wide, but his brain seemed to have turned to porridge. He hadn’t seen Mick in well over a decade, maybe longer; he’d been friends with Mick’s son Lee when they were kids, and Mick had been best friends with Callum’s brother Stuart once, but he knew for a fact they’d lost touch years ago. To find him in some random pub in a random borough of London was like something out of a dream.

It clearly wasn’t a question that required a response though, as Mick was already leading him over to the bar with a firm hand on his back in front of the watchful eyes of the interested regulars, calling out as he went. “Elle! Elle? Where are you? Look who’s here!”

“Barrel store, Mick,” said a bored-looking woman behind the bar.

“Well, don’t just stand there, Trace, go and fetch her, would ya?” Mick turned back to Callum and grinned again, shaking his head in disbelief. “Look at you. How long’s it been? What’s your poison?”

Callum blinked, not following the turn of the conversation. “What?”

“You haven’t changed, have ya, son?” said Mick with a laugh, and Callum found himself blushing again. “What can I get you to drink?” he added more slowly.

“This is your boozer?” said Callum in surprise, his brain finally having cranked into gear and put the puzzle pieces together, including the fact that Mick had made his way to the other side of the bar while they’d been talking.

“For ooh, five years now. Me and my Elle. We had the kids here with us for a while, but they’ve all flown the nest now – though we’ve got a new one now, little Ollie. Proper little belter, he is. Just turned four, he’ll be starting school in September. Pint, is it?”

“Uh, yeah, please Mick, a pint of your finest would be lovely, thanks.” Callum sank thankfully onto a bar stool, relaxing as Mick’s words washed over him, the obvious pride and joy in his pub and his family shining through. To his sudden horror, Callum realised something very like tears were pricking at the back of his eyes and he quickly ducked his head down as Mick kept talking, swallowing hard. There was something warm and familiar here in this pub that he hadn’t felt in a very long time.

“What is it, Mick?” said another familiar, if cross sounding voice, and Callum looked up happily, all thoughts of tears forgotten as Linda appeared behind the bar. “Tracey said you needed me...”

“Look who’s here!” And the next few minutes were spent in an orgy of surprised smiles and ‘well I nevers’ and ‘how long has it beens’ until Linda asked the question Callum had been hoping neither of them would ask.

“So, what you doing in Walford, then, Halfway? How did you end up in our pub?”

“Oh, well...” He ducked his head back down and stared at his pint of beer in the faint hope it might contain the answer, but its depths revealed nothing beyond golden, hoppy goodness. “I’m, uh, meeting someone.”

“Ooh!” exclaimed Linda in delight while Mick chuckled. “Here, in the Vic? Who’s the lucky lady, do I know her?”

So this was it. The moment of truth. It was funny; whenever he’d thought about coming out over the years – or done his best _not_ to think about it back in the dim and distant past – he’d always had in his mind that ‘coming out’ was one big moment. You Came Out; you declared to the world, I’m Here, I’m Gay, and that was it. He was still getting his head around the idea that coming out wasn’t one moment but constant, something you had to do over and over again with nearly everyone you met. That you could be out to some people and not to others; happily out and proud with Chris’s family and friends back in England, but still keeping it a secret from your fellow soldiers, barracked together in Afghanistan; out to your brother, but the experience of telling _him_ was so awful it could make you damn sure you’d never tell your father under threat of torture even if the old bastard ever did get back in touch.

And now a situation like this. Old friends, who he’s probably never going to see again after tonight. Is it worth correcting her assumption, embarrassing her, risking a flood of follow up questions that he’s not sure he’s got the headspace for right now? But is not correcting her like hiding it, saying he’s ashamed?

Callum opened his mouth, still not entirely sure which way he was going to go, but before he could answer Linda’s attention suddenly slid away from him.

A balding, freckled punter was glaring at them from further down the bar and waving an empty pint glass. “Any chance of some service here, Linda?”

“For goodness’ sake, Max, I’m coming,” she grumbled, and smacked Mick in the side before moving off. “Get an answer!”

Mick rubbed his stubble with a thoughtful hand and raised his eyebrows at Callum. “So is it? Anyone we know?”

“Uh, I doubt it, Mick. Meeting them at a club around the corner in a bit, just came in here to kill a bit of time first, I was early. Met them on an app,” he added, suddenly feeling bold, and was encouraged by Mick not looking particularly surprised or judgemental at the fact. Nor had he apparently picked up on the gender-neutral pronoun, or was choosing to ignore it.

“Way of the world now, innit son? Well, best of luck to you. I mean, look at you! How could anyone not fall for that face, eh?”

Callum wondered if that would be the end of the conversation, it had the faint sound of a dismissal. The pub was getting busier as the light dimmed outside, but after a quick glance over to the other end of the bar to make sure he wasn’t needed, Mick came back and settled down in front of Callum, leaning his weight on his forearms and looking for all the world as though he was there for a lengthy conversation.

“So you still serving Queen and country, lad?” Mick asked cheerfully. “Our Lee left a couple years back, not for him in the end.”

“No.” Callum swallowed; another subject he didn’t really want to dwell on, not with the nerves already jangling in his stomach. “Uh, discharged on medical grounds last year.”

Again, Mick didn’t look particularly surprised, nodding at this new information. “Thought I maybe spotted a bit of a limp there.”

“Yeah, well...” Callum drained the dregs of his drink, not knowing what else to do with his hands. “It’s okay.”

Thankfully, Mick seemed to pick up on the vibe and changed the subject. Unfortunately, it wasn’t to one Callum was much more enthusiastic about. “So what are ya up to these days then?”

“Um…” He huffed out a breath of air in a half-laugh, aware of how pathetic he was probably coming across to Mick. Landlord of his own boozer, heaving with punters on a Tuesday night when pubs round here were closing at a rate of knots; loving wife, four kids…perfect life. And here’s this utter wreck of a man, no job, no family, no prospects, no life. “Not a lot, at the moment, Mick. If I’m honest. Been looking for jobs, but...” He gave a shrug to try and convey a general air of who’s going to employ a grief-stricken, crippled, broken loser incapable of stringing two coherent sentences together in a job interview?

Out of sheer desperation, he’d eventually swallowed his pride and filled out the online application for McDonald’s a few weeks back. The cheery automated response that had popped up to tell him he’d answered their stupid multiple choice questions incorrectly and wouldn’t be getting an interview had been the very definition of rock bottom. It was after drowning his sorrows with several cans of cheap lager that night that he’d downloaded the hook up app onto his phone...

“But I’m sure something will turn up,” Callum added to the bottom of his empty pint glass, needing Mick not to look at him with the pity that was no doubt there in his eyes. “Don’t suppose you know anyone looking for a chef?”

Mick frowned at him. “Have I missed something? Thought you was in khaki, lad?”

“Catering division, Mick,” said Callum with a laugh. “I’ve got proper qualifications and everything.”

Mick threw another look over towards Linda, but seemed to be happy that she was coping and turned back to Callum again.

“So, how’s your brother? I’ve sent him a few texts over the last couple of years but he’s never got back to me. I mean, he’s never been what you’d call super reliable, has he, but I’m surprised he’s never turned up at some point wanting a night out! He changed his number or something?”

Callum could have beaten his forehead against the bar. Was there a single topic of conversation that Mick could bring up that didn’t make him want to die a little inside?

“Actually,” he said with a little nervous cough, “it’s more that Stuart’s not allowed his phone right now.” Mick frowned at him and Callum sighed. “He’s back inside. He got four years this time.”

“Do I want to know what for?”

“Probably not?”

“So...your dad around is he? Or...?” Mick waved a hand around helplessly and Callum realised what he was driving at.

“It’s just me. Right now. Just me. I’m, uh, staying with a friend over in Hackney. She’s...been really good to me, but I need to move on and find my own place if I can get a bit of money together.” Callum clasped his fingers around his empty pint glass and stared hard at it, and without knowing why added again, “But yeah, it’s just me right now.”

To his shock, he felt a kind hand on his arm. He looked up to find Mick smiling sadly at him, and Callum quickly rearranged his own face into a wide smile he didn’t quite feel. “Oh no, don’t worry Mick, I’m good on my own! I mean, you knew my dad, would you want him around? Anyway, uh...” He cleared his throat. “You should get on, I think Linda probably needs some help.” Callum nodded over to where Linda was indeed looking slightly pissed off as she dealt with a small queue of customers that had built up.

“You want another pint?” Mick asked, gesturing to the empty glass.

He did, if he was honest, but he knew it wasn’t a good idea; he was on edge enough as it was, god only know the kind of rubbish he might start spouting with two pints inside of him. “Better not.”

“All right, but stay there, okay Halfway?” Mick gave his arm another awkward pat before moving away. “I wanna have a word before you go.”

Callum stayed where he was for the next while, as requested, taking in his surroundings and listening to the murmured conversations of the regulars as they laughed and drank. The Google reviewers – well, half of them – had been right, there was a tremendous warmth to this place. He’d been avoiding pubs, or anywhere that might be filled with too many people, ever since Chris’s death. The few, awkward, horrible dates he’d been on had been in chain restaurants and bars – bright, shiny places with chrome fittings and tiled floors. This place, though nothing like the dives his brother used to drag him to, had a strange feeling for him of coming home. In his brother’s pubs, there was always a faint air of menace, like a fight or some drama was going to break out at any second, but you couldn’t imagine anything like that happening here in the Queen Victoria.

He paid a visit to the gents and, after a nervous glance at the door to make sure no one could see him, spent some time carefully fixing his hair again and adjusting his shirt before heading back into the bar area. Mick had vanished somewhere, but Callum couldn’t wait any longer for him to return; he was supposed to be meeting his…date at the club at nine pm and it was already five to. He gave a brief wave to Linda, zipped up his jacket and left.

The coolness of the night air was a refreshing change from the stuffy pub, and it gave Callum a chance to clear his head as he retraced his steps back in the direction of the tube station and the club. The chance encounter with Mick and Linda had thrown him. He was already doing something tonight that was so out of his comfort zone it might as well be a trip to Mars, the last thing he needed was old memories crowding into his head, memories of his brother, his dad, his childhood…being invited to stay on for tea with the Carter kids, but saying no more often than not. He would have given anything to say yes every time, to spend as much time as he could in that noisy, boisterous flat with Linda piling second helpings onto his plate; but his instinctive sense of pride and shame knew that they were only asking him out of pity, and he knew he would never be able to return the invitation, couldn’t risk Lee or Nancy seeing his house or meeting his dad. So he would turn them down, his empty stomach rumbling, and lie that he needed to get home for his tea. Nine times out of ten, Mick would stuff a packet or two of crisps into his hands on the way out of the door anyway.

He shook his head to clear the memories as he rounded the corner under the railway bridge and his destination, E20, came into view. He could hear the faint sound of thumping bass spilling out from the club doors as bouncers let a group of giggling young women in high heels inside.

Callum paused, looking towards the club doors, taking in a couple more deep breaths of the cool night air. Could he really do this?

He could almost hear his father’s voice in his head, not for the first time. _Disgusting,_ the voice spat. _Filth. What kind of man goes out looking for that kind of perverted scum, gets off on it?_ Or maybe it was his brother’s voice. Sometimes they blurred into one.

He thought of Vicky, too. Her gentle enthusiasm, setting him up with a friend of a friend through work – _such a lovely, sweet guy, I really think you two will have so much in common, he’s the settling down type as well, just meet him and see how it goes?_ – encouraging him to sign up to one of those apps that promises to find real connections and people seeking long-term relationships, even paying the registration fee for him and refusing to take the money back for it.

Then he thought of Chris. Chris’s smile, Chris’s laugh. The way he’d wrinkle his eyes at Callum whenever he thought Callum was being a bit of an idiot. _‘I don’t think I can do this,’ Callum had said to him once, and he’d laughed, and slid his hand around the back of Callum’s neck in that comforting, familiar way he did. ‘When will you get it through that thick skull of yours? You can do anything you bloody well want to. It’s your fucking choice. Always. Don’t ever let anyone tell you different. Not even me.’ And he’d leaned up to kiss him and for that moment at least, Callum had believed it._

Squaring his shoulders, Callum headed into the club.

It was smaller than he’d expected; booths, tables and a small dance floor down a flight of stairs. Not exactly packed, but then it was mid-week to be fair. He scanned the room, then all his blood seemed to freeze for a moment as he spotted a figure at the far end of the bar.

Callum pulled his phone out of his jacket, fingers fumbling slightly – why were his hands so sweaty, for goodness’ sake – but managed to unlock it to double-check the picture from his match. Definitely him. A little on the short and stocky side, short brown hair, nice bit of stubble, wearing a truly _hideous_ shiny patterned shirt, and trousers that left nothing to the imagination, but...fit. Definitely fit. Callum felt his mouth go dry. He’d agreed to the meet up on the basis of the profile pic, but if he was honest it was also mainly because this guy was the _only_ person who’d reached out for a meet so far. He somehow hadn’t been prepared for the stranger to actually be this fanciable, and butterflies fluttered quietly in his stomach in anticipation.

His footsteps seemed to be getting slower as he approached the bar; the man hadn’t noticed him, absorbed with cradling a glass of whisky and staring absent-mindedly into space. At least, that’s what Callum assumed he was doing, it was actually kind of hard to tell from this angle. He’d imagined this scenario over and over on the journey here tonight, but in all of them for some reason he’d assumed that his mysterious stranger would be looking in his direction and he wouldn’t need to attract his attention in some way. Should he cough? Tap him on the shoulder? Slide up beside him and dazzle him with a clever and charismatic opening line that showed off how witty and charming he was? Well okay, clearly the last one was never gonna happen, but he’d settle for not tripping over his own feet on his way to the bar and smacking his forehead into a row of bottles.

Taking a deep breath, he settled his face into what he hoped was a friendly, normal, and completely un-dorky expression and stepped up to the bar.

“Hi.”

The man glanced up from his drink before smiling lazily, settling back on his stool and unambiguously checking Callum out. He ran his eyes up and down the body of the man in front of him – and damn it, Callum could _feel_ his ears turning red, why do they do that?! – before returning his gaze to Callum’s face and widening his smile. “Hi.”

“Um...we messaged? Through the app?” said Callum, feeling stupid for saying it but unable to think of anything else to say. His brain seemed to have seized up again at the man’s look. “I’m Callum.” He stuck out a hand, unable to help the reflex but realising too late how awkward it must look, like a kid at his first job interview.

The stranger grinned like this was the most amusing thing he’d ever seen, but took the offered hand anyway, shaking it solemnly with a glint of laughter in his eyes. “Ben.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Tuesday 4 June 2019, 9.05pm**

“So, can I get you a drink?” Callum asked, then immediately wanted to kick himself. There was definitely no mistaking the amusement on the stranger’s – Ben’s – face this time.

“Already got one, thanks,” said Ben, lifting his glass as his lips quirked up at one side. He put his head on one side and regarded Callum thoughtfully. “Happy to get you one though, handsome. Billy?” The last word was accompanied by a snap of his fingers as he turned back to the bar, and a middle-aged barman appeared, looking less than impressed at the lordly summons.

“What can I get you?”

Ben turned to Callum, raising his eyebrows. Callum managed to pull himself together enough to request a “Bottle of lager please.”

“Coming right up.”

“Thank you, Billy,” said Ben in a sing-song, slightly mocking voice as the barman turned away to fetch the drink. Callum took the opportunity to briefly study his date for the evening again. He definitely fancied him. Which was a good omen, right? Not conventionally handsome, not a ‘lovely boy’ like the ones everyone had been trying to set him up with, but he had something about him, a bit of attitude in the way he held himself that was one hundred percent responsible for the butterflies currently fluttering in Callum’s gut right now.

Ben seemed to realise he was being checked out and flashed Callum a quick grin just before Billy returned with the lager.

“Stick it on my tab, would ya, Bill?”

Callum was taken aback at the nasty look the barman gave Ben before the younger man picked up both drinks and turned away from the bar, indicating Callum to follow with an incline of his head. Paranoia quickly kicked in. Clearly this was Ben’s local, he knew the barman by name. Did he come here every night of the week and leave with a different bloke every time? Callum knew he should probably be disgusted by that; his dad would be, his brother would be, clearly the barman is, judging by the looks he was giving Ben...but part of Callum is fascinated, almost excited instead. It was a world away from his current life of daytime TV and early nights and the occasional takeaway on the rare occasions he can afford it.

“Let’s sit over here,” said Ben, leading them to a table. “Away from nosy neighbours.” He passed Callum his drink and then sat in silence for a moment, seemingly happy just to regard Callum without saying anything.

Not knowing what to do or say, Callum took a swig from his bottle of lager. Then another one.

The silence continued to drag out, broken only by the very loud EDM thumping out around the club, and the shouted conversations from the other tables as their neighbours tried to make themselves heard above the music.

Callum took another swig of his drink, feeling hot, uncomfortable, and beginning to get slightly freaked out that Ben was so content to just sit there in silence looking at him. Was Ben watching his hands? What was so special about his hands?

Finally, unable to bear it any longer, he blurted out, “So, what do you think of the music?”

Ben frowned, head on one side in a quizzical expression as though he hadn’t heard the question.

Callum tried again. “The music? Good song this?”

Ben nodded, but still didn’t answer, continuing to look at Callum thoughtfully. Then he leaned forward, placing both hands around his whisky glass, forearms on the table, and brought his face closer to Callum’s.

“This is your first time, ain’t it?”

Callum nearly choked on the bottle he had just brought to his lips. Colour flooded into his face as he opened his mouth to deny it but nothing came out.

Ben threw up his hands, that odd smirk from before quirking up the sides of his mouth again. “Don’t worry, I didn’t mean to imply it was ya first time ever!” He peered at Callum and a slow smile spread over his face. “Though the way you’re blushing like a Vestal Virgin, mate, I might reconsider...” For a moment, Callum seriously considered crawling under the table and dying as an option. “I meant first time hooking up like this,” Ben clarified. “Meetin’ someone through an app.”

Callum had no idea how to answer. It was the truth, wasn’t it? He’d spent five minutes in the bloke’s company, had said barely ten words to him, and he’d been twigged. There wasn’t much point in denying it. He reached for his lager again and took another swig, simply for something to do with his hands.

Ben smirked. “Yeah, I thought so.” He shifted sideways in the booth, getting closer to Callum until their thighs were almost touching, but then leaned back, picking his drink back up and looking as relaxed as it was possible for a human to look. He continued to regard Callum as though he was an interesting specimen in a jar. “You sure it’s not your first time ever? I mean, it’s not a problem for me, mate, we all have to start somewhere, I’m just intrigued. You’re a little on the old side to suddenly be getting bi-curious. Let me guess...” He leaned forward again, pointing with the hand still holding the glass, “...late bloomer maybe, in the closet, had a wife – nah, better yet, a fiancé you never quite got round to setting a date with – until one day you just couldn’t deny the power of cock any longer--”

“My boyfriend died.”

Fuck, where the hell had that come from?

Callum hated being laughed at. Not that he ever showed it. It was a protection mechanism; funny Halfway, with his clumsiness and his silly hat, always happy to be the butt of the joke, one of the lads. It was how he fit in, didn’t get noticed. At school, in the army, even at home to keep his dad’s anger and attention away from him. But that didn’t mean he didn’t feel it, or that it didn’t sting when some full-of-himself stranger had taken one look at him and decided he was someone not to be taken seriously. Callum was annoyed with himself; annoyed at his naïve hopes and fantasies for the evening; annoyed at his instant physical attraction to someone who’d turned out to be just another bully who got his kicks out of putting people down, making them feel small. So he’d opened his mouth to say something, anything, to shut the guy up and wipe that smug smirk off his face. He really hadn’t meant to come out with _that_ though.

There was a horrified silence for a moment. “Shit,” said Ben.

“Look, I’m sorry,” said Callum, flustered, “that just came out, I didn’t mean to--"

“Yeah,” said Ben, rubbing one eyebrow in a subdued gesture, avoiding Callum’s eye. “I mean, fuck yeah, talk about a conversation stopper.” He started to slide out of the booth, getting to his feet, and Callum’s heart sank. His first attempt at getting out of his comfort zone and doing something different, and he’d screwed it up as badly as he did everything else in his life.

“Look, I’m sorry, let me explain--” he started, but Ben wasn’t listening. 

“Hang on, wait there. Don’t move.”

Callum waited, confused, heart hammering, as the music pulsed around him. The bar was getting busier and Ben had vanished somewhere in the throng, but it wasn’t long before he reappeared, sitting back down with two more glasses of what looked like whisky. 

“You need a proper drink.” It was statement, not a question. He slid one glass over to Callum and raised his own. “Let’s start again, shall we? I’m Ben.” He held out the glass and waited.

Callum hesitated; then picked up his own glass and clinked it against Ben’s. “Callum.” He smiled back.

“Cheers!” said Ben, and tipped most the contents of his glass down his throat in one smooth gesture. Callum followed suit, if a little less smoothly, coughing a little as the alcohol stung his throat.

“I’m sorry,” Ben added, and to his credit, he did look a little sheepish, rubbing his eyebrow again in a repeat of the earlier gesture. Callum found himself watching the movement in fascination, beginning to wonder how many drinks Ben had already had before he’d arrived. He was struggling to keep up with these mood swings. “I was being a bit of an arse before. Shouldn’t have wound you up like that.”

Callum shrugged. “It’s all right.”

“Eh, not really.” That broad smile flashed again, and Callum couldn’t help it; as irritating as Ben had been, he couldn’t help really liking that smile and wanting to see it again. He smiled back before he could prevent it and then ducked his head back down in confusion. “I mean,” said Ben, “I was being a _massive_ prat. I’ve had a bit of a skinful already, sorry. I didn’t really think it was yer first time with a bloke, but if it had been I’d have just put ya off for life, right? We were all there once, I shouldn’t have been such a twat about it. So, here’s the deal; if you want, you can tell me more about this whole “dead boyfriend” thing--” He actually made finger quotes in the air as he spoke, and Callum again was torn between being hugely irritated and slightly amused. “--or you can tell me to fuck off, none of my business, and tell me nothing, and we can sit here in silence for a bit.

“Or then again,” he added, one corner of his mouth curling up as he looked sideways at Callum, eyes glinting. “We can just go _straight_ back to mine, if you want--” He paused suggestively, before laughing and shrugging. “--or you can bin me off and head on home alone, no skin off my nose.”

Callum looked questioningly at him at that last part and Ben smiled again. “You’re under no obligation here, mate. I’m not into forcing anyone to do anything they don’t wholeheartedly want to do. I’m into willing and... _enthusiastic_ partners, me. It’s much more of a turn on.” The word ‘enthusiastic’ was not one that Callum had previously thought of as particularly dirty, but as heat flooded through him at the way Ben had drawled it, he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to hear it again without blushing.

Callum stared at the dregs of whisky in his glass for a moment, running his fingers up and down the sides of the tumbler as he tried to work out what he wanted to say. And do. This was his out. If he wanted, he could stand up at this point and walk out, no harm done.

“It wasn’t that recently. That he died,” he said. As he spoke he could feel his shoulders relaxing, just a little, as his breath expelled in a huff of air. It was the first time really that he’d ever spoken to anyone about Chris who didn’t already know him. “Nearly eighteen months ago now. But we were together for a long time. And I wasn’t really ‘out’ before I was with Chris. So yeah...I’ve never really done...anything like this. The whole scene. Anonymous, no strings--” he stumbled over the word sex, acutely aware they’re in public and half shouting this conversation over the club music, and changed it instead to “–-hook ups.” He shrugged and risked glancing up from his drink for the first time to find Ben watching him with an unreadable expression. “Thought I’d give it a go.”

It wasn’t the full story, though it was the only one Ben was going to get to hear. A year or so after the attack on their convoy in Helmand province that had left Chris and several others dead and Callum badly injured, it was like a button had been pressed or a switch had been flipped somewhere: _OK, your year’s up, no more moping!_ His rehab had come to an end not long before, the DWP had declared him fit to work and reduced his disability benefits, and everyone in his life had started making encouraging noises about meeting people and ‘getting back out there’, despite Callum’s protests that he’d never really been ‘out there’ in the first place. But he’d shown willing, had met the ‘lovely boys’ that Vicky and Chris’s old friends had set him up with, had tried the dating apps that promised real relationships, had made every effort for those dates to go well.

But they had all been disasters, every last one of them. Awkward, stilted affairs where Callum and the latest ‘lovely boy’ would fall into uncomfortable silences broken only by banal small talk. At first, Callum thought it was him, that it was too soon, or that he was just really, really bad at this dating thing. He tried Googling questions like ‘how to keep the conversation going on a first date’ but the results only depressed him further, leading him down a rabbit hole of loneliness and despair - not to mention some seriously creepy YouTube videos that had him stabbing for the back button.

Then, after a while, Callum had come to a realisation; he didn’t actually want to date. It wasn’t that he wasn’t ready to move on, exactly - he still missed Chris with a dull ache that filled his heart every morning when he woke up, of course he did, but he could wrap his head around the idea now of maybe one day meeting someone new without it feeling like a betrayal - but he didn’t want to _date_. He didn’t want to sit in an over-lit restaurant asking and answering the same questions over and over about favourite music, what boxsets he’s streaming right now, my chicken’s lovely thanks, how’s your pasta?

One day, he wanted to meet someone again who’d make him feel the same way Chris had made him feel from the first moment he met him. Callum couldn’t put it into words, he’d never been any good with those, but that feeling that had flooded through him right from day one, long before he’d even acknowledge what those feelings were, that this was something _good_ , something special. He’d know it if he ever found it again, but he also knew he wasn’t ready to go out searching for it.

Callum had come to another realisation though, around the same time, and it was one that he had no intention of ever letting anyone else ever get a hint of, especially Vicky. It was something he found hard even to admit to himself. But he missed sex. He maybe wasn’t looking for a relationship right now, but in recent months, emerging from his grief, he had found himself missing physical intimacy and that feeling of being with someone else, just holding and touching, skin against skin. It felt almost shameful, because it wasn’t the image he knew other people had of him, or the image he had of himself; surely he should be searching for human connections, deep and meaningful conversations, a cure for his loneliness?

But instead he’d found himself developing a bit of a porn habit when Vicky was out of the flat, fantasising late at night about going to a gay bar and getting off with some random bloke without even asking his name. He could have slept with one or two of the guys he’d dated, he supposed, but it didn’t feel right somehow; they were looking for more, hoping for a relationship, and he knew he didn’t want that with them. Then one night, despondent and drunk, he had opened up the app store on his phone and searched...

Back in the here and now, Callum raised his gaze to meet Ben’s, noticing for the first time how blue his eyes were.

“And do you still want to? Give it a go?” Ben asked, keeping his tone fairly neutral.

Callum leaned back in his seat and looked across at him. “Do you?”

There was a long pause while Ben made a very obvious show of checking Callum out once again, raking his eyes up and down Callum’s body before sliding down in his seat to take a pointed look at the other man’s thighs. Callum took it all in good humour, rolling his eyes.

“I think I could be persuaded,” Ben drawled eventually and damn it if it wasn’t one of the hottest things Callum had ever heard. “But I was asking you.”

Callum gave a shy smile and looked down at his hands on the table, still cradling the whisky glass. “Honestly? Yes. I think so. The evening hasn’t exactly gone...quite how I was imagining it to.”

“Yeah.” Ben grimaced. “I’m not gonna lie, I do this a _lot_ , and it doesn’t often go like this. It’s usually more, ‘Hi, my place is round the corner, thank you and good night.’ Still...” His face softened and the smile returned. “I’m always ready to try new things.” They were both quiet for a moment. Callum took the opportunity to finish the rest of his drink, grimacing as the whisky burned his throat. It was never going to be his drink of choice.

Ben watched him for a short while before adding abruptly, “Your profile gives you away, you know.”

“What do you mean?” said Callum in surprise.

“Mate, it _screams_ ‘I’m embarrassed to be on this app and I’ve not bothered to look at anyone else’s profiles before creating mine’.”

Crap, Callum could feel himself blushing yet again at the accuracy of the statement. “It’s not that bad,” he said weakly.

“Oh, come on, look at this profile pic,” said Ben, swiping through his phone and bringing Callum’s profile up onscreen to prove his point. 

“What’s wrong with it?” Callum had tried to take a selfie when he’d set up his account, but after several failed attempts to take something that didn’t make him look either goofy or constipated he’d given up and uploaded the one photo he had on his phone of himself that he liked. He’d had to crop Chris out of it, and you could still sort of see the side of his face, but it had looked all right to him.

“This,” said Ben, jabbing his finger at the screen, “is adorable. Seriously, it is. It’s one of the most adorable pictures I’ve ever seen. It’s the ridiculously adorable picture you’d send to your new boyfriend’s nan to demonstrate what a safe prospect you are, and how you’d never break her little moonbeam’s heart. It hardly shouts ‘come here, big boy, and fuck me into next week’, does it?” He glanced back up and his face broke back into a smirk again. “You’re really going to have to do something about that blush, ya know. Or maybe not, this whole wide-eyed innocent routine you’ve got going on’s kind of a turn on... Anyway, you’ve left half the options blank, you’ve barely bigged yourself up at all or said anything about what you’re into, turn ons, turn offs--”

“If it’s so terrible, how come you’re sitting here then?” Callum snapped, having circled back to annoyance again.

Not in the least abashed, Ben grinned up at him. “Oh, I like a mystery, me. You came up as a potential match when I was looking at a car out Hackney way earlier today and I thought why the hell not? Fit bloke, kind eyes, nice smile...I don’t mind showing a rookie a thing or two, we were all new to the scene once.” He placed the phone back on the table, threw up his hands and laughed. “Don’t give me that face, I’m being nice here!”

“That’s you being nice, is it?” said Callum. “Who brought you up, Attila the Hun?”

“Ouch,” said Ben, but he was still smiling as he said it and looked almost oddly pleased. Callum had the distinct impression that he’d passed some kind of test. “Mind you, you’re not far off.”

Somehow, without Callum being aware of it, the mood around the table had changed. They were smiling at each other again as they had done before, but the air seemed thicker now. Slowly, Ben shifted closer again, lightly placing his hand on the inside of Callum’s thigh and brushing his thumb over the seam of his jeans. Callum swallowed.

Ben looked at him with a question in his eyes, then leaned in and kissed him. It was only a brief kiss, a short brushing of lips against each other. But as he pulled back and opened his mouth as if to speak, Callum didn’t give him the chance, bringing him in for another, longer, kiss with one hand around the back of his neck, running his fingers through the short, wiry hairs he found there.

Ben opened his lips willingly, licking into Callum’s mouth, and they both spent a long moment enjoying the taste and sensation of each other before he pulled away again with a slight moan.

Ben licked his lips before smirking up at Callum, one eyebrow raised. “My place, then? If you’re sure?”

Callum nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He knew it was just because it had been so long since he had kissed anyone, but it was quite frankly like there were fireworks going off in his head right now, and he was going to need a moment before he stood up. He hoped his date for the evening had been serious when he mentioned his place being ‘just around the corner’ earlier - if he was about to suggest a taxi or a walk to the tube station, Callum honestly was considering doing something completely mad like dragging them into the nearest toilet cubicle or finding a park bench. _Stop acting like a sex-starved teenager and play it cool!_ he scolded himself in drunken amusement.

“Come on, then,” said Ben, standing up. He shrugged on a leather jacket and indicated Callum to follow him with a nod of his head; and as if in a dream, Callum followed him out of the bar and into the cool night air.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is the long chapter; basically, the 'sex and talking' chapter that launches the whole of the rest of the fic.
> 
> Thanks so much to everyone who's left kudos and comments!

**Tuesday 29 June 2019, 9.45pm**

Ben set a brisk pace as they started walking from the club, but with his longer legs Callum had no trouble keeping up. He was trembling slightly as they walked, and he knew it wasn’t just from the night air. He was as turned on as he could ever remember being.

The other man didn’t seem to be inclined to talk, but Callum had never been good with silence, always feeling the need to fill it.

“You live close by?” Callum asked.

Ben flashed him a quick grin, looking amused. “Yeah, not far at all.” Callum groaned inwardly. He’d been attempting to make conversation, but realised that the question could be interpreted as one of impatience. Not that he _wasn’t_ feeling impatient; the anticipation that had been building in him ever since he’d met Ben in the club was seemed to be filling his whole body with a kind of weightlessness.

They were making their way back up the same dark street he’d walked down earlier, passing empty market stalls covered by ratty bits of tarpaulin. For one mad moment, an image filled Callum’s head of Ben pulling him into the nearest dark alley, sinking to his knees, and giving him the blow job of his life. He almost stumbled and offered up a prayer of silent thanks that no one could read his mind. What on earth had got into him tonight?

They were approaching the Queen Victoria pub again, and Ben’s footsteps were slowing. Callum’s mind suddenly span. It couldn’t be all a wind up, could it? Some horrible joke his brother had cooked up, roped Mick in to help with; Ben would push him through the pub doors and a whole boozer full of people would point and laugh, egged on by Stuart, who in this bizarre scenario was no longer in prison for some reason. But as the horrifying fantasy flashed through Callum’s mind, Ben was already veering left and crossing the street.

Ben pushed open what looked like a back gate on the other side of the street opposite the pub, and Callum followed him through it in bemusement. He’d been expecting...he didn’t know what, some tiny bedsit or a scuzzy flatshare, not a large, well-kept house in a nice square.

“You live here?” he asked in surprise.

“You ask a lot of questions, don’t you?” Ben said, his tone a little harsh. “It’s temporary.” He stopped to look through a window to the side of the back door, and swore quietly. “We’re not stopping to chat, all right?”

Callum wasn’t sure what he meant, but thought it best to keep his mouth shut. Ben had taken hold of his hand and was pulling him through the door. He barely had time to take in the sight of a kitchen, some sort of pleasant open dining/living room space with photo frames on every available surface, and two women sitting on a sofa at the far end lit by the dim glow of a television, before he found himself being pulled past and up a flight of stairs. The women had both looked up in interest as the door had opened, but Ben had rushed them through without a word.

Embarrassed, Callum was dying to ask who the women had been, but stopped himself, willing to let himself be swept along and up a second flight of stairs in silence. This was pretty obviously Ben’s family home, and they were presumably his family - mum and sister maybe. He could feel awkward about it, but if Ben didn’t, why should he?

They finally reached an attic bedroom, and Ben slammed the door shut with slightly more force than necessary before smiling wickedly at Callum, head on one side.

Callum swallowed. In his imagination - possibly influenced by all the porn he’d been watching - this is when animal instinct would take over. They’d tear each other’s clothes off in a frenzy before falling gracefully onto the bed and having mind-blowing sex.

However, actually standing in the bedroom of a bloke he’d met for the first time less than an hour ago was a lot more awkward than he was expecting, however horny he was feeling right now. When exactly in proceedings should he take his shoes off? he found himself wondering.

Luckily, Ben seemed willing to take charge of the situation. “Come ‘ere,” he ordered, reaching out for Callum. He pushed him back against the bedroom door and kissed him fiercely. The doubts and worries seemed to fall out of Callum’s head as he eagerly kissed him back, but the kiss didn’t last long at all, Ben breaking off to plant further kisses down Callum’s jaw.

He turned his attention to Callum’s neck, licking and nibbling, and pushing him back against the door as they began to grind against each other, eager for friction. Callum could feel Ben getting hard against his leg. He himself had been half hard ever since they’d left the club, but his erection was beginning to strain against his jeans now and he found himself breathless.

Ben pulled back and grinned at him, lips parted, red and swollen. Callum could only stare in awe. “Take off your shirt,” Ben commanded.

Fumbling with the buttons, Callum managed to get them undone while Ben watched him with heavy lidded eyes. He pulled the fabric out from where it had been tucked into his jeans and slowly pushed the shirt off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor.

“And the undershirt,” said Ben. The voice was a little hoarse this time, as though it was strained, and Callum couldn’t help but feel a little smug that he wasn’t the only one feeling the effects. He pulled off his T-shirt too and stood there, bare-chested. He also took the opportunity to quickly kick off his shoes.

Ben stepped forward again and let his hand trail slowly down Callum’s chest, pausing to swirl gently around his belly button. Callum’s breath hitched and he let out a groan as Ben’s hands moved lower, one hand cupping the growing bulge in his jeans, the other reaching to undo the belt buckle. Ben looked up, a question in his eyes, and Callum froze, doubt suddenly flooding into his mind. In the heat of the moment, he’d forgotten about the mass of ugly scar tissue hidden under his jeans. But it was far too late to turn back now, so he nodded, not trusting himself to speak. With quick, fluid movements, Ben opened the zip and pulled down jeans, boxers and all, releasing Callum’s straining erection.

“Niiice,” Ben breathed, wide-eyed and glancing up with a devilish look on his face. If he’d seen the mess where a working hip used to be - and surely he must have? - he clearly didn’t have anything to say about it before he got to work on Callum’s cock instead with talented fingers and tongue. 

Callum flung his head back, hands scrabbling for purchase on the door as gasps and moans escaped his throat. The sensations were too much, it had been too long. He almost choked, gasping for air as Ben took him fully in his mouth, stroking the sensitive skin of his inner thigh with delicate fingers.

“Wait, stop,” Callum gasped out, reaching down to grasp Ben’s head and push him away. “I’m too close--”

Ben pulled back, still holding on to Callum’s good hip with his hand and smirked. “I do have that effect on blokes.”

It was quite possibly the most erotic thing Callum had ever seen; Ben kneeling at his feet, smiling like the cat who’d got the cream, his own erection an obvious bulge in his overly-tight trousers, still fully dressed while Callum stood there almost completely naked and so hard it was painful. It was apparently a kink he didn’t even know he had, and for a second he thought he might come without even needing to be touched again.

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” he managed to say, and if his voice sounded shaky was it any wonder?

Ben smirked again and rose to his feet, beginning to unbutton his shirt. “So what do you want to do, then?”

“S-sorry?”

“Well, this is all for your benefit, ya know. This is your night, your first night getting back out there. What, you think I’m so considerate of everyone?” He let the shirt drop to the floor as Callum greedily drank in the sight of his naked torso. “What’s your fantasy? Don’t worry, if it’s too kinky, even for me, I’ll just tell you to fuck off.” He was taking off his trousers as he spoke, and Callum realised with shock and no small amount of thrill that he wasn’t wearing anything under them. It took Callum a moment to get his brain around the question; his mind had gone blank.

Then his mouth blurted out, without his brain apparently interceding; “Wanna fuck you.”

He’d said it quietly, barely above a whisper, but Ben had apparently heard by the way his eyes dilated and his breath hitched.

“Yeah? I think that’s something we can definitely do.”

It was as though Callum’s request had shifted the balance in the room. Ben took complete charge from then on; pulling them towards the bed, issuing orders, demanding, pleading, urging, while Callum let his mind go blank and instinct take over, riding the waves of pleasure until they both reached their climax, one after the other.

They pulled apart, panting, and Callum felt his limbs go heavy as he came back down. He tied off the condom conscientiously and dropped it on to the floor by the bed, then lay down on his back, arms by his sides, and tried to get his breath back.

The bed was small, only slightly wider than a single. Ben rolled over so that he was on his back too; side by side, but not touching.

It was no good. Callum had never heard a silence he couldn’t stop himself from filling. “Well, that was…something else,” he said, stopping himself just in time before he used a word like ‘amazing’ or ‘beautiful’ or something else that would probably make the other man laugh hysterically at him. It had definitely been on the right side of pretty fucking great though, and he realised he was probably smiling like a goofy idiot.

“Yeah,” said Ben, and there was something odd in his tone.

Callum turned to look at him, but he was already sitting up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “Hang on, wait there,” Ben said, in an echo of his earlier words in the club. He fished a pair of black briefs from a messy pile of clothes, pulled a dressing gown around himself, and headed for the bedroom door. “I’ll be right back.” And with a wink, he was gone.

Callum lay back, confused. The worries and insecurities began to creep back in. Had he done something wrong? He thought it had been pretty mind-blowing himself, but Ben was clearly much more experienced than him. He hardly had a lot to compare it to; only Chris, if counting the proper stuff rather than half-hearted fumbles with the wrong sex while he was still figuring himself out. As much in love as he and Chris had been, their sex life had hardly been what you’d call conventional, what with long stretches of service overseas with absolutely no privacy, interspersed with all-too-short periods of leave where they would make up for lost time as best they could.

Callum sat up in the bed and pulled the duvet over his naked lap, beginning to feel embarrassed as the minutes ticked by and Ben still didn’t reappear. He looked with interest around the room. If this was Ben’s childhood bedroom, there were no signs of it; no old posters on the walls, no shelves of books and toys, no random junk piled up in the corners. The place was messy but sterile, like a guest bedroom with an untidy guest staying in it. He’d said this was ‘temporary’ earlier, right? Maybe this _wasn’t_ his family home after all, or he’d had to move back in for a while, after a bad break up or losing a job or something…

The door opened again, startling Callum out of his speculation, and Ben emerged, carefully balancing a couple of opened beer bottles and a packet of crisps.

“Here,” Ben said shortly, holding out one of the bottles of beer.

Callum took it. “Thanks.” He didn’t really want it, but he didn’t want to be rude. He’d had enough to drink tonight to make him pleasantly squiffy and lightheaded; another drink might tip him over into unpleasantly drunk, or at least give him a wicked headache in the morning. But he was oddly pleased he wasn’t being kicked out straight onto the street as soon as the whole, you know, sex part was over, so he took a swig from the bottle with gratitude.

“Pleasure,” said Ben, still not wasting any words. He sat down next to Callum on the bed, on top of the duvet, and hitched his legs up under him. He drank in silence for a moment before giving Callum a sideways look. “How are you doing?”

Callum didn’t pretend to misunderstand the question. He’d had a strange sense all evening, ever since he’d blurted out the truth about Chris in the club, that Ben was trying to look after him in some peculiar way, and he was grateful. The answer to the question was a complicated one, however. In a way, he was almost worried because he _didn’t_ feel guilty about what had just happened, and surely he should? But it had just been sex, with a stranger - a million miles away from the love and life he’d shared with Chris.

Callum shrugged. “Good. I think. I mean…that was good, right?” He couldn’t help it, he had to ask for reassurance, Ben was giving him nothing to work with here.

Ben smiled that feline smile again. “Oh, I have very few complaints. Fancy a crisp?”

That was the best he was going to get, he supposed. He accepted a crisp gracefully, carefully placing his beer on to the bedside table, and Ben ripped the crisp packet open so that he could spread it out between them on the bed.

“Salt and vinegar,” said Callum happily. “My favourite.”

“Of course,” said Ben, sounding relaxed, if not bordering on slightly slurred. He leaned back against the wall, one arm behind his head, beer bottle dangling from the fingers of the other hand. “Only a psycho would choose anything other than salt and vinegar. My brother eats prawn cocktail crisps by choice, if ya can believe that.

“Well, actually,” Ben continued, reaching forward and helping himself to a few more crisps, “he’s not my brother. Not my real brother. Best friend-slash-brother. Brother by choice rather than blood. My _real_ brother would probably claim he’s above such common things as crisps, preferring his hot - halt - haute - foreign stuff, but he’ll scoff them down by the handful when he thinks no one’s looking.” He was definitely slurring now, and Callum wondered again how much he’d had to drink before they’d met up tonight. Or possibly he was just falling asleep, which was fair enough; Callum was feeling rather relaxed and pleasantly sleepy too.

He took another crisp. “Does your brother still live at home too?” Crap, he hadn’t meant to say that, but he was feeling too comfortable and the question had just slipped out.

Ben raised an eyebrow at him. “What _is_ it with you? This isn’t ‘This is Your Life’, mate, I don’t do personal questions.” He sounded annoyed, which Callum couldn’t help thinking was a little unfair considering he was the one who’d just revealed a whole load of personal information without prompting. “Bit of advice for you re one night stands. The whole interrogation thing’s a bit of a turn off.”

“Right. Sorry.” Feeling awkward, Callum indicated the last few sad looking scraps of crisps nestled in the packet between them. “You want those?”

Ben shook his head. “All yours.”

Callum scooped the scraps into his mouth and then began to lick the salt and grease from his fingers. After a second, he realised Ben was staring at him intensely. Swallowing the instinctive stab of embarrassment, he instead deliberately slowed down, licking the rest of his fingers with slow, languid movements, his eyes fixed on Ben’s.

Ben’s breathing became shallow as he watched him. Wordlessly, he reached over Callum to place his empty beer bottle next to the half-full one - Callum holding his breath - then pulled his dressing gown off his body and deposited it on the floor, followed by his pants.

“Ready for Round Two?” Callum nodded, the stirring in his groin confirming he was more than ready. “Good.”

* * *

Afterwards, they both rolled onto their backs again, lying side by side as before, breathing hard. This time, Callum resisted the urge to break the silence. He was enjoying the sensation of lying there as the sweat cooled on their bodies, his mind blank for once, Ben’s expert attentions having blotted out the anxious voices in his head. For the moment at least.

He was in danger of drifting off to sleep when Ben’s voice broke the silence this time around.

“So, can I ask?”

Callum turned his head to find Ben had rolled over on to his side, looking at him. He lifted a hand and ran it gently up Callum’s leg, trailing up the scars until he rested his hand in the dip where a chunk was missing from the top of Callum’s hip. “What happened?”

Callum frowned at him. “I thought we weren’t doing personal questions.”

“Fair’s fair. You asked me several, I get to ask you one.” Callum wasn’t entirely sure that was right - had he even asked Ben all that many questions? And it wasn’t like Ben had answered them - but he was still feeling pleasantly drunk and sleepy and shagged out and not in the mood to argue the point. “You can always tell me to fuck off, you don’t have to answer,” Ben added pleasantly.

Callum didn’t want to talk about it. Not the scars or the pain, they were easy enough to deal with; but talking about his injury meant talking about the attack that had changed his life and left him broken, inside and out. But it seemed so ridiculous to refuse to talk about it here, lying naked in this intimate setting with a man he’d just had sex with. Twice. 

He shrugged. “It’s all right. Don’t mind. I got injured. In Afghanistan.”

Ben’s eyebrows flew up in shock, and Callum would have laughed out loud had he been less sleepy. “You were in the Army?”

Callum nodded, confused by at how outraged he looked. “Yeah, our convoy got attacked--"

“Why the hell,” said Ben, pulling himself up so he was propped up against the pillows, “is that not on your profile?! You know us boys love a man in uniform, right?”

Callum scoffed, embarrassed. “Don’t be ridiculous. Besides, weren’t exactly the most popular war, was it? And it’s not like the Army is the most gay-friendly of places...”

“Oh yeah, yeah, I know,” said Ben. He waved one hand in the air. “Don’t get me wrong, I can’t say I’m a huge fan of all that flag-waving, Daily Mail, saluting the Queen bollocks myself, but mate: you’re a _war hero_. For real, you were injured in the line of duty, defending your country--”

“I wasn’t on the front line, I was a chef, Ben--”

Ben wasn’t listening, continuing to talk. “--and you’ve got actual scars to prove it, but luckily for you, they’re not anywhere visible that would mar your beautiful face, because, as much as I love our community, let’s be clear about this, we’re all shallow as fuck--”

“Ben!”

“--and you’d be _amazed_ at how many blokes out there have a uniform fetish, particularly if it’s worn by a tall, handsome, manly soldier. They’d be queuing up. I’m serious, you need to get that shit on your profile right now. Where’s your phone?” To Callum’s horror, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and made to stand up, as though he was going to look for Callum’s phone and actually do this.

“Ben, stop. I’m serious, please, just...stop.” He winced at the pathetic tone, but it worked. Ben slowly got back into bed and after a beat, pulled the duvet up over both of them.

“Sorry.” He glanced over at Callum. “I kind of meant it though. You’d get a hell of a lot more action--”

“Yeah, well, I don’t want that kind of action,” said Callum sharply. “That’s not...me. They’d turn up expecting something they’re not gonna get.”

“Right. Sorry.” Ben rubbed the skin over his left eyebrow again in an uncertain gesture Callum recognised from the club. There was a pause for a moment; then, “When did it happen?”

“You’ve already had your personal question, what makes you think you’re getting another one?” There was no answer. Callum sighed. “About eighteen months ago.”

He expected something further, but there was silence from the other side of the bed. He glanced up to find Ben staring at the wall; clearly not so drunk he couldn’t put two and two together and work out the connection.

The silence dragged out. As always, Callum felt the urge to break it, but he had no idea what to say. All he really wanted to do was go to sleep, but he wasn’t even sure if Ben was willing to let him stay the night here, they hadn’t exactly discussed it.

“I lost someone.”

The statement was so unexpected, every atom in Callum’s body seemed to freeze in place. He risked a glance at Ben out of the corner of his eye; the other man was sat still, propped up against the pillows, staring fixedly at the wall opposite.

“I ain’t gonna talk about him, all right?” Ben added, with some fierceness. “I ain’t answering any questions about this. But...he died. Couple of years ago now. So...I get it. It don’t really get any easier.”

“Oh. Well, cheers. That’s good to know.”

Callum’s slightly pathetic attempt to lighten the mood seemed to work as Ben huffed a laugh and finally turned to look at him. Callum was suddenly struck by how young and vulnerable he looked. Meeting him in the club, full of swagger and attitude, Callum hadn’t thought about how old he was, probably thinking of Ben as much the same age as himself if he’d thought about it at all. But here, sat up in bed, stripped of all that bravado and revealing something of his real self for a moment, he suddenly looked achingly young.

As if Ben realised what he was thinking, it was as though the shutters came back down. His face became expressionless and he slid down in the bed.

“Anyway,” said Ben. “Don’t matter now. You can stay if you like, too late to catch a tube.”

It probably wasn’t if he left now and legged it there, and there were night buses he could get anyway, but Callum appreciated the gesture even as Ben turned his back on him in the narrow bed with an air of finality. He was left to settle down and get as comfortable as he could.

He didn’t think he’d have had any difficulties getting off to sleep, he’d been fighting sleep ever since his second, spectacular orgasm; but as he lay there, his mind wouldn’t stop spinning, replaying scenes from throughout the night. The way Ben had felt against his skin; the noises he’d made, his face when he’d come; then rewinding back to earlier in the evening, wincing at the memory of their conversation in the club, Ben’s opinion of his profile...

“We never paid the tab!”

“What?” mumbled Ben, clearly at least half asleep.

Callum rolled over in horror. “In the club, we left without paying the tab! For the drinks! Can you go back tomorrow and sort it? I’ll give you my share...”

“Chill, would ya?” Ben mumbled into his pillow. “I paid when I bought the final round. Anyway, the manager’s family. So’s the owner come to that... It’s sorted, trust me.”

“Right, phew. Thanks.” Callum rolled back again and tried to get comfy, willing himself back to the brink of sleep again.

After a moment, a small, amused voice came from the other side of the bed. “You were really worried, weren’t ya?”

“Of course.” Callum was slightly confused. Who wouldn’t be worried if they thought they’d accidentally skipped out without paying a bill?

“Weirdo.” There was another pause, before: “Paul.”

“Sorry?”

The bed shifted beside him. “His name was Paul. I miss him.”

Callum stared at the wall opposite in the darkness. “Chris. I miss him too.”

He turned his head to find Ben doing the same, looking back at him. They held eye contact for a moment before Ben dropped his head, nestling back into the pillow again. Callum shifted round to press a brief kiss to his shoulder, then settled back down again on his own side.

They lay silently, backs to each other, until Callum fell asleep.

* * *

He woke up early. He didn’t have a choice; years of Army training had hard-wired a 6am wake up call into his brain. Unsurprisingly, he awoke and had a brief moment of panic and confusion before remembering where he was and why he was there. He lay in silence as the memories of the night before flooded back into his head, and he felt his body tingle as some of the more fun parts of the night came back to him.

He rolled over gingerly, trying not to disturb Ben, but needn’t have worried; the younger man appeared to still be dead to the world, curled up into his pillow. Callum watched him for a second or two, wondering again at how much younger he looked, stripped of all the chat and the front he put up when he was awake.

Callum’s musings didn’t last long though. His bladder was making much more urgent demands on his attention.

“Ben?” There was no answer. Callum dithered for a moment, but it was no good, the situation was too urgent. He reached over and gently shook Ben’s shoulder. “Ben.”

“’s the middle of the night,” came the mumbled reply. “Wha’.”

“Bathroom?”

“Downstairs,” mumbled Ben, still not moving. “Straight ahead.”

Clearly that was the best he was going to get. Callum gently pulled himself out of the bed, taking care not to disturb Ben who seemed to have fallen straight back to sleep again. He found his clothes from last night and pulled on his jeans and T-shirt, nerves beginning to flutter in his stomach again. What if he ran into one of Ben’s family on the stairs? What did you say in those circumstances?

Fortune smiled on him though. Making as little noise as he could, he successfully crept downstairs and located the bathroom where Ben said it would be on the first floor landing. Locking the door firmly behind him, he took a piss with relief, then headed to the basin to wash his hands.

He really could have done with a shower, but he couldn’t see any clean towels, and he wouldn’t feel right about taking one without permission anyway in what was clearly a family bathroom; there were bottles of products everywhere, several toothbrushes by the sink, and at least one child in the house, probably female judging by the princess theme.

Callum wished he’d thought to ask Ben about having a shower and borrowing a towel though. He felt gross, and he probably smelt it too. There was dried cum crusting on his stomach, evidence of their sessions last night, and when he looked in the mirror above the washbasin he could see his face didn’t look much better either; hollow-eyed, his once perfectly gelled hair now a mess, hanging over his forehead, and...was that a love-bite visible on his neck? Shit, it was.

He stared at his reflection in the mirror and swallowed down the revulsion threatening to rise up in his throat. Last night, at the time, it had felt...amazing. And so simple in the end, just taking pleasure from someone very willing to give it and receive it in return. But in the cold light of the morning, it suddenly felt a lot more complicated.

He cleaned himself up as best he could and attempted to fix his hair into some sort of shape before heading back up to the attic conversion; again, being as quiet as he possibly could, and exhaling with relief when he reached the top of the stairs without running into anyone else.

Ben was just getting out of bed as he entered the room, yawning and stretching his body this way and that. Catching Callum staring, he winked and pulled his dressing gown off the floor.

“Come on, I’ll show ya out,” Ben said with another yawn, wrapping his dressing gown around himself. “Mum’s on the early shift so she’ll be out already and no one else should be up yet at this ungodly hour. You should escape the Spanish Inquisition.”

“Right, thanks.” Finally, confirmation this _was_ his parents’ place, good to know. It was hard not to feel a stab of jealousy, and Callum wondered for a brief, ugly moment if Ben knew how good he had it, here in this warm, comfortable family home, with a family who apparently had no problem with him bringing blokes home and having noisy sex with them any night of the week. But he dismissed the thought almost as soon as it crossed his mind, it wasn’t a fair one.

They reached the kitchen without incident and stood by the back door they’d entered through last night. _Here comes the awkward bit._ Callum turned to face Ben, shifting from one foot to another, completely at a loss for what to say.

Unfortunately, his helpful, thoughtful, caring guide to one night stands from last night seemed to have vanished. Perhaps Ben just wasn’t a morning person, thought Callum charitably. His face had a grumpy, closed-off expression to it, and he was currently looking somewhere past Callum’s left shoulder, making no effort to talk.

It was left to Callum, once again, to break the awkward silence. “So, um, I had a great time.” He groaned inwardly at the cliché.

“Yeah,” said Ben, still not making eye contact. “Yeah, it was fun.”

“Okay, then,” said Callum, and he reached out for the handle of the door behind him.

“Look,” said Ben suddenly, ducking his head down and rubbing his eyebrow again in that gesture that was becoming oddly familiar. “Remember to update your profile, yeah? Don’t sell yourself short. In _every_ sense,” he added, with a smirk and a pointed look at Callum’s crotch.

Callum rolled his eyes, but couldn’t help the laugh that escaped his lips. Oh, what the hell... “Well, you’ve got my details,” he blurted out, unable to help it. “Through the app. So, you know, if you ever want to meet up again, share any more tips…”

Ben didn’t smile back and his eyes slid away to the other end of the kitchen again. “Yeah, we’ll see.”

Then they both seemed to hear it at the same time, turning towards the kitchen doorway; the high-pitched voice of a child and the lower tones of an adult, accompanied by the thundering of footsteps down the stairs.

“Right, well, you’ll be wanting to get off then,” said Ben, moving swiftly to reach behind Callum and wrench the kitchen door open. He didn’t exactly push Callum through it, but somehow Callum found himself on the other side just as two blonde figures appeared downstairs. The last thing he heard before the door slammed shut was two voices; a child saying, “Who was that?”, and another female voice saying, “Oh, Ben, do you have to? I hate it when they look all sad like that--“.

Right then. He stood still in the little courtyard outside the back door for a moment, clutching his jacket to his chest and feeling slightly in shock. He could hear the sounds of the market starting up on the other side of the wall, vehicles reversing and the traders chatting and laughing as they set up their stalls; it seemed so surreal somehow, like total normality and a world away from the night he had just spent here. Then it hit him that Ben and his family could presumably see him through the kitchen window, standing like a lemon in their back yard, and he quickly put his jacket on and opened the back gate.

He’d been right about the noise, the bustle of the market was all around him as he came out on to the street. Two men just a bit older than him were stood drinking cups of takeaway tea by a half-assembled fruit and veg stall across the road. They turned to look at him when he emerged from the back gate, and the good-looking one gave him a knowing wink. Embarrassed, Callum quickly turned to his right and headed for the tube station and home.

As he started walking though, his phone beeped in his jacket pocket. Pausing to one side of the pavement, he fished it out.

It was as if the sounds of the market faded away to nothing around him as he read the text from Vicky.

_Just checking you’re okay? Not like you not to come home. Not a problem, just want to make sure everything’s all right. V x_

His stomach lurched, and not just through hunger - though he was pretty hungry come to that, he realised, noticing he’d stopped right outside a café. He could do with some breakfast inside him before he faced the rush hour tube, not to mention somewhere to take stock and work out how to reply to this text, and ‘Kathy’s Café’ was advertising a full English on the sandwich board outside. Mind made up, he headed inside.

He had to queue behind several market traders getting their early morning teas and coffees with a repeated stream of “The usual, please, Kath”. When he eventually got to the front of the queue, the older woman serving behind the counter gave him a hard look, almost as if she was sizing him up, and he had another moment of panic - did she recognise him from somewhere? Had his collar slipped, revealing the hickey on his neck? Did all of Ben’s conquests come in here, and she was just assuming he was another one and judging him for it? - but she said nothing beyond, “Yes luv, what can I get ya?” and he was able to order breakfast and sit down with relief.

Choosing a table in the corner where he could sit with his back to the wall, he got his phone out again to stare at Vicky’s text. It wasn’t so much that he didn’t know what to say in reply. That was easy enough. He’d pretty much already decided he wasn’t going to lie to her about this, though he wasn’t going to tell her the full truth either; but she’d get an approximation of it, that the date had gone well and he’d stayed the night. Typing quickly, he sent back:

_I’m fine, but thanks for worrying. Missed the last tube, decided to stay over. Tell you about it later. x_

No, the problem was going to come in the follow-up questions. _Tell me about him, what’s he like, are you going to see him again?_

Because the answer to the last one was obviously no, wasn’t it? This was a one night stand. That was always the plan. To have a casual hook up - or several, maybe even an unlimited number - to scratch that itch, get out there, enjoy being young, free and single, at least for a while until he felt ready to start something real again. And Ben had made it very clear this morning that a one night stand was definitely how _he_ was viewing it. The trouble was--

“Here you go, luv!” A loaded plate was banged onto the table in front of him, followed by a cup of tea. The café owner - Kath - gave him a warm smile as he thanked her politely before leaving him to his thoughts again.

Where was he? Right, the trouble was...

He sighed. Admitting it to himself, he didn’t want it to _be_ a one night stand. He wanted to see Ben again.

Staring blankly at the chalkboard menu on the opposite wall, mug of tea in one hand, it was all he could do not to groan out loud. Trust Halfway Highway to balls up something as simple as this, he reflected grimly. Only he could go for a night of fun, casual, no strings sex and end up convincing himself he’d seen something special in the bloke. His father’s voice was filling his head again, full of scornful derision. _You sound like a right girl, son!_ Men took what they wanted and moved on, right? That’s what his dad would say. That’s what other people managed to do.

Anyway, it wasn’t as though he had a lot of choice in the matter, did he? He could try reaching out to Ben again through the app, but if Ben wanted he could just ignore him. He didn’t even know Ben’s last name.

“That’ll get cold if you leave it,” Kath’s voice floated past him. She nodded at his breakfast in passing as she walked by with dirty crockery from one of the other tables. He marvelled briefly at how she seemed to be serving customers, clearing tables, and cooking all the breakfasts entirely on her own.

Callum tucked into his cooling breakfast, grateful for the reminder, while Kath headed back to the counter just as Mick Carter came through the door.

“Morning, Mick! What can I get ya?”

“Nah, you’re all right, Kath, I’m here for--" He glanced around the café and beamed when he spotted Callum in the corner.

“Halfway!” Mick strolled over and took the other chair at the table. “Thought I saw your boat vanishing in here. Good night then?”

“Uh--” Once again, Callum was frozen into silence by an unexpected appearance of Mick Carter.

Mick nodded. “Walk of Shame, is it?” He held up his hands. “Don’t tell me, I don’t wanna know, and I’m getting the sense you don’t wanna tell me anyway, but that’s no problem mate, I ain’t got time for details right now as it is. Elle’ll do her nut if I don’t get back home with the milk sharpish.” He held up for display the bottle of milk he’d clearly just bought. “But I’m glad I ran into ya. You ran away so quick last night, you didn’t give me a chance to offer ya a job.”

Callum blinked. “A job.” Perhaps he was still asleep and dreaming all of this, it would explain a lot.

“If you want one, it’s there for you.” Callum continued to stare, at a total loss for words, and Mick started to chuckle. “I’d give you a minute to think it over, but I really have to be getting back to the Vic. Look, I’ll be honest with ya, I’m short staffed. The kids are all gone, me best barmaid’s just up and left to start a market stall, and my sister Tina – do you remember Tina? Not sure if you ever met her – she’s actually not my sister, turns out she’s my aunt – long story. Anyway, she’s leaving us this week to go off and manage a gay bar, if you can believe that. And with the increased competition, we could do with someone doing a bit of decent grub, we haven’t had a proper chef in the kitchen since...well, that’s another long story. So, I talked to Linda last night after I talked to you, and well, short of it is, we’re happy to have you on board as a chef and barman, if you’re up for it.”

Callum hadn’t moved an inch throughout the whole of this speech.

“You’re offering me a job,” he said eventually, his brain kicking into gear. “But...you’ve never eaten my food, Mick, or...do you not want me to do a trial first, or see some references, or...?”

“Don’t be a doughnut, Halfway,” said Mick, as if that were the end of the matter. “You’ve got your fancy bits of paper from the Army, right? Best we’ve got at the moment is me mother slinging some frozen chips on a tray and whacking a pie in the microwave. And any old muppet can learn to pull a pint. When could you start?”

“Um, whenever you want me?”

Mick smiled happily. “Right, well, how about you come round tomorrow and we’ll show you the ropes, do the forms for the taxman, start you on proper shifts this weekend? Oh, and there’s a bed at the Vic if you need it,” he added, almost as an afterthought, and Callum almost choked on his tea.

“I’m sorry?”

“We-ll,” said Mick, rubbing his forehead with a sheepish air, “Hackney’s a bit of a trek ain’t it, at the end of a late shift if you’ve missed the last tube home. I’m not saying you have to move in if you don’t want to, you can just crash now and then if you need – but you were saying you were looking for a new gaff anyway, so if you want to, you’re more than welcome to Johnny’s old room for a while until you find somewhere more permanent.”

“Right. Thanks. I don’t really know what to say, Mick.” Callum found there was a lump in his throat and he swallowed hard, blinking furiously in the direction of the table to avoid Mick’s eyes.

“Well, you can let me know if you want the job or not, sunshine, because you’ve not technically said yes as yet,” said Mick with a grin.

“Yeah, no, of course I want it!” stammered Callum. “I mean, yes please, that would be amazing. I need to think about the room and talk to my flatmate, but that’s really kind of you, thank you.”

“Right, well, put your digits in here,” said Mick, unlocking his phone and sliding it across the table, “and I’ll text you, we’ll set up details, okay? And Halfway?”

“Um, yeah?” said Callum, concentrating on entering his number into Mick’s phone.

He looked up to find Mick grinning broadly at him and holding out his hand across the table. Callum grasped it and shook it, feeling completely bamboozled.

“Welcome to Walford.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for slow update! I ended up rewriting most of this chapter and the next one because I wasn't very happy with the original versions, and life then got in the way of me finishing and posting them. Next chapter, with a lot more Ben/Callum interaction, will be up shortly...

**Thursday 6 June 2019**

“And this,” said Mick with a flourish, “is the view from the other side of the bar. Not bad, is it?”

Somewhat overwhelmed, Callum nodded and smiled in lieu of an actual response. Not that Mick seemed to need one, turning his attention to taking down a pint glass and starting a tutorial on how to pour the perfect pint.

It was Thursday morning and Callum was getting a tour of the Queen Victoria - or the Vic as Mick kept calling it - as promised. He was still slightly in shock at the speed it had all happened, but he couldn’t keep the smile off his face.

It wasn’t, probably, a job for life. He knew that. He didn’t know what he wanted to do with his life yet, but he suspected it wasn’t going to be serving pints and dishing up pies in an East End pub forever. But it was a _job_ , a reason finally to get out of bed in the morning, something to give a bit of structure and purpose to his day again - not to mention a bit of money in his pocket. And he’d be working with the Carters, who’d been a second family to him once. A better family than his actual family at times, come to that... He didn’t know what good karma he’d earned that had led his feet by chance into the Vic two nights earlier, but as he followed Mick past the boxes of crisps and up the stairs, it was all he could do not to click his heels together and burst into song.

The new job and a place to live weren’t the only things on Callum’s mind, if he was completely honest with himself. The possibility of running into Ben again had also popped into his head a few times over the last twenty-four hours, but he’d done his best to quash down those thoughts every time they appeared. That’s the kind of thing the old, daft, head-in-the-clouds Halfway would have daydreamed about. This was a new start. He didn’t need to be that person any more.

He had sent Ben a message through the app the previous morning though, a couple of hours after leaving Walford. There’d been a long internal struggle before sending it - should he tell him about the job offer, warn him he might be moving in next door? But whatever he typed seemed ridiculously over the top coming from a casual hook up, so in the end he kept it short and sweet, just a brief message saying thanks for last night, he’d had a great time. There had been no reply.

“Right, kitchen on your left, that’s the bathroom over there, couple of bedrooms, and if you’ll just follow me in here, this is the living room.” Callum followed Mick, still in something of a daze, as Mick waved a hand at a comfortable looking sofa. “Take the weight off your trotters, and we’ll fill out a couple of forms, sort out your shifts to start with, all right?”

Callum didn’t sit down as directed quite yet though, wandering over to the window on a bit of a detour first. Someone had left the window open on this hot summer’s day, and the sounds of the market were drifting in. He glanced down and couldn’t help smiling again at the noise and bustle of the busy market below, the cries of the traders flying back and forth. It probably got a bit boring after a while when you were used to it, but right now it sounded like heaven to him. Vicky’s flat was on a modern development, the kind of place where no one spoke to their neighbours and you had to walk miles to get to the nearest pub or shop. This place was like something from another time, a proper little community.

Then his gaze drifted upwards, across the street to the house opposite: Ben’s house. He couldn’t help wondering briefly if Ben was there right now or if he was at work, and what kind of work that might be; then Callum stopped the thought in its tracks, feeling foolish, and stepped away from the window.

“All right?” said Mick, patting the spot next to him on the sofa. “Time enough for daydreaming later, mate, I need to get cracking with this before L gets back and asks me what I’ve been doing all morning.” He grinned to take the sting out of the words and Callum smiled back, sitting down.

“Sorry, Mick.”

“So, tell me, because you haven’t really given me an answer yet. Johnny’s old room. Are you wanting it?”

“Yeah. If that’s still all right?”

It had been a no brainer. Callum had felt bad about springing it on Vicky with no notice, after everything she’d done for him, but the actual decision to move out had been made months ago. It was only lack of funds and any place to go stopping him from doing it. Vicky would never ask him to move out, she was too nice for that, but he knew he’d overstayed his welcome. It was _her_ flat, not theirs, and he’d only ever felt like a guest in it. They’d been held together by their shared grief and loss, but it couldn’t last forever and it was long since time to move on.

He suspected too that Vicky and her boyfriend were wanting to move in together and were holding off until Callum had moved out, even if she was too kind-hearted to tell him that to his face, and the knowledge had been sitting heavy on his chest for weeks. Mick’s offer had been like manna raining down from heaven. Vicky’s very obvious and genuine joy and delight at his news had been all the confirmation he’d needed.

“Course it’s all right, ya muppet!” said Mick, sounding like this was the best news he’d ever heard, but that was Mick for you. “Wouldn’t have offered else.”

“Just until I find somewhere more permanent,” said Callum, wanting to reassure him he wasn’t taking advantage. He hadn’t forgotten Mick’s pitying looks at his sob story in the pub downstairs on Tuesday night. “And I’ll pay you rent of course...”

“Hey, look,” said Mick, holding up a hand, “we’ll take summat out your wages. But you’ll be doing me a favour, honest, I need another man about the place again! Do you have any idea what it’s like living surrounded entirely by women? I need someone fighting my corner, mate. Not to mention someone to watch the footie with. Hey, you still support the Hammers, right?”

“Of course,” said Callum, indignant at the very thought. “Until the day I die, Mick.”

“Good lad.” Mick thumped him on the arm before reaching for a pair of reading glasses. “Right, let’s talk shifts. Hang on, I’ve got the rota on my laptop...if the blasted thing would let me in. Come on, what’s the matter with ya?” Mick jabbed the enter key a few times as though this would do any good, while Callum watched him nervously. 

Their conversation had stirred something in his mind. He knew he wanted to talk to Mick about it before moving in, he just didn’t know when to bring it up. Maybe there was no perfect time though, and this was as good an opportunity as any. “Mick...”

“It’s just sitting there, updating! I didn’t ask it to do that, did I?”

“I’m sure it’ll be done in a second, Mick. Look, while we’re waiting, I need to talk to you about something.”

This finally got his attention, and Mick dragged his eyes away from the laptop screen to focus on Callum with concern. “Everything all right?”

Callum froze for a moment, his throat closed; then the words came spilling out in a rush. “The thing is...I need to tell you something. Before I move in, I mean. I’m sure...I mean, I _hope_ it isn’t a problem. I mean, I know it’s not a problem. It’s just something I think you should know before I live here. In case it’s a problem for you. Which I’m sure it isn’t, but--”

“Any chance you’re going to get to some kind of point, Halfway?” said Mick, not unkindly.

“I’m gay,” said Callum. He instantly felt all his blood rush to his face and cursed silently, knowing he was probably blushing like a fire engine. He hadn’t meant to blurt it out quite like that. “That date I was meeting the other night, it was a bloke. I just...wanted you to know, because I didn’t want you to think I was hiding anything from you.”

Mick nodded. “Right. And?” Callum stared at him. “Anything else you need to tell me?”

“Uh, no, that’s it.”

“Let’s take a look at your shifts then, shall we?” Mick glanced up from the laptop and burst out laughing. “Go on, your face! Did you think I’d have a problem with it, ya muppet?”

Honestly? Callum wasn’t sure. He liked Mick, he always had, and he didn’t seem the type. But this was still an East End boozer and Mick was still Stuart’s best friend, or he had been once. He’d grown up in the same world as Stuart and Callum had, all macho bullshit and very clear rules on what made men men and women women. Callum had been low-key nervous about telling him ever since agreeing to take the job; he didn’t really think Mick would take back the job offer or anything like that, but that he’d look at him differently, treat him differently, make unfunny jokes he’d just have to smile along with? Yeah, Callum was nervous of that.

Mick was still laughing. “I did tell you our Tina’s finishing here this week to go off and manage a gay bar, didn’t I? Well, it was her years of experience in the field rather than her managerial skills that got her that gig, if you know what I mean. Hey, she’s gonna be thrilled, ya know, that’s one more punter for her gaff at least...”

“Your Tina’s gay?” said Callum in surprise.

“And our Johnny.” Mick grinned again at the look on Callum’s face. “See, told you you’d fit right in with our mob. You got your NI number? I’ll set you up on payroll while you’re here.”

Callum dug the piece of paper with his NI number on out of his wallet and passed it over, still processing all this new information. He tried to bring Johnny to mind, but the Carters’ other son was a few years younger and his main memories were of an annoying kid trailing around after Lee and Nancy and himself.

Mick was slowly entering details into a form, glancing back and forth to copy down the information, and throwing out questions every now and then about Callum’s date of birth and whether this was his first job since the 6th of April. He suddenly paused and gave Callum a sideways look over the top of his reading glasses.

“Yesterday morning...” said Mick, scratching the back of his neck with his pen lid, “when I saw ya, going into the caff, you weren’t coming out of that house just across the road, by any chance? The one I could see if I looked outta that window right there?” He pointed with the pen.

If Callum thought he was blushing before, that was surely nothing compared to what was going on now. He opened and shut his mouth a couple of times, but nothing came out.

“Never mind,” said Mick, “none of my business.” He busied himself for a moment with adding the Vic’s address to the P46 form, before glancing sideways again. “One off, ya think, or...?”

“Uh, yeah,” said Callum, still in disbelief they were having this conversation at all, his brain frozen in horror, “just a one off.”

“Right, good. That’s...good. I dunno how much you know about Ben?” Callum started at the mention of the name, like every one of his nerve ends had started tingling. His night with Ben had seemed otherworldly in his head, like it had happened somewhere else entirely. Of course it shouldn’t be a surprise that Mick knew him; he lived across the road, this was his local pub, and Mick was the kind of person that knew everyone, but it was like Callum’s worlds had just collided in a rather unsettling way.

“But I’m not sure he’s your best bet,” Mick had continued. “Ya know, if you’re looking for long-term or anything. He’s--” Mick paused, scratching himself with the pen again, nose screwed up, looking as though he was searching desperately for the words to describe Ben while Callum perched on the edge of the sofa, trying to look uninterested and refrain from screaming _hurry up and tell me!_ at the top of his lungs. Eventually, Mick seemed to give up and settled for: “If you’re looking ta avoid complications, you maybe don’t wanna be getting mixed up with Ben, put it that way.” It was stunningly unhelpful. Callum nodded and smiled and resisted the urge to scream for more information.

“What was that?” An older woman had entered the room while they were talking, all eye make up and spiky bleached hair. She threw herself down in the chair at the far end and glared fiercely at Callum. He attempted to smile back.

“Callum, this is me mother, Shirley,” said Mick, pointing with the pen. “Do you remember Halfway, mother? He’d have only bin a nipper when you last saw ‘im...”

Shirley completely ignored him, eyes fixed hard on Callum. “Why you asking about Ben Mitchell?”

Callum jumped, tongue tied at the combination of fear of the seriously scary woman staring at him and the thrill that had run through him at the sound of the full name. _Mitchell._ A name was important, made Ben...real, somehow. Made the intangible shadow he’d been chasing in his dreams last night into flesh and blood, someone people knew, could tell him about.

Callum was still failing to answer her question, however. The truth was awkward, but that was no reason to make up a lie that could be easily disproved and he was struggling to think of a response.

Mick came to his rescue, or tried to. “Just leave it, mother.”

Shirley continued to stare. “I wanna know why you’re asking about Ben? If you’re getting mixed up in some kind of trouble with the Mitchells, I’d stay well clear if I were you. Out of your league, sunshine.”

“It’s nothing like that,” said Mick with a chuckle, clearly keen to move the conversation on. “Right, who wants a cuppa...?”

“Can’t he speak for himself?”

“Course I can,” said Callum with a confidence he didn’t quite feel in the face of that stare. “Like Mick said, it’s nothing like that. There’s no trouble.”

He got up and followed Mick into the kitchen, but could feel Shirley’s eyes watching him as he went. He had a horrible feeling that might not be the end of that conversation. In the meantime, he filed the few little nuggets of information he’d heard away for further reflection. _Ben Mitchell_. Trouble and complications, apparently. It was like a child being told not to open the Mysterious Door of Danger and Intrigue. All it did was make him want to know more.

* * *

Not that Callum had any time to reflect on it or do any further investigations over the next few days. Once he’d shaken Mick’s hand again and left the pub, it was a non-stop flurry of packing, goodbyes, remembering to set up a redirect with the post office and let the DWP know he was now in gainful employment. He moved into the Vic on the Friday and was put straight to work in the kitchen, sorting out the absolute state it had got into with no one properly in charge. Half the equipment seemed to have vanished somewhere or made its way upstairs to the flat above the pub, and the knives didn’t seem to have been sharpened since flares were in fashion.

He enjoyed the work though, throwing himself into it with enthusiasm, making increasingly long lists of items Mick and Linda would need to buy to get the kitchen back up to scratch and drafting fantasy menus for the future. It kept his hands and his mind busy, and filled the hours with a purpose again he hadn’t had since leaving the Army all those months ago.

He managed to get out behind the bar a few times as well, Mick patiently showing him again how to pour the perfect pint, Linda showing him once more with considerably less patience, Shirley giving him another hard stare as he struggled with the beer pump but not lifting a finger to help him. He spent some time getting to know Tina too - Shirley’s sister, Mick’s aunt - as they bonded over breakfast on Saturday morning.

He’d intended to cook breakfast for all of the Carters as a thank you, but it turned out that most of them had their own plans, vanishing off in one direction or another, and he was left with just Tina. Mick had clearly told her Callum was ‘one of your mob’ as she cheerfully put it, and at first it was uncomfortably a little like being interrogated. But he couldn’t help liking Tina - she was one of those kind of people - and by the time she’d finished eating everything he’d cooked for the family, he’d told her virtually his whole life story, and had somehow agreed to help her set up for the opening night launch next week of the new gay bar she was managing. Her sheer boundless joy at her new job was infectious, and put a smile on Callum’s face for the rest of the day.

He was introduced to a dizzying array of locals and regulars over the first couple of days, and knew he didn’t have a hope in hell of remembering most of their names, at least at first. A few stuck in the brain - Martin, from the fruit and veg stall right outside the pub, who had his own tankard behind the bar and explained at length how his family had run that stall for over a hundred years; Winston, on the record stall, who was a reggae and soul man himself but was still willing to have a long conversation about some classic rock; and Kathy, serving in the café like some sort of genie with four pairs of hands, but still managing to address all her customers by name and give Callum a warm smile in greeting as though she remembered him too.

With everything going on, Callum didn’t have the headspace for any distractions of a Ben Mitchell variety over those first couple of days. It didn’t mean his mind didn’t wander in that direction every now and then though. Serving behind the bar, he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d come in for a drink, but he never did. Wandering through the market, or popping into the Minute Mart, he was slightly on edge, knowing he could bump into Ben at any moment; but again, nothing.

Late Sunday morning, Callum bounded cheerfully down the stairs and into the main bar of the Vic where Mick was reading his morning paper, enjoying the peace and quiet before the bar opened. Callum had arranged to go back to Vicky’s for a farewell Sunday lunch with all the trimmings - he’d moved out so quickly, they’d barely had a chance to talk - before returning to the Vic to do the late afternoon and evening shift, give Mick and Linda the night off. They didn’t serve food on Sundays evenings so he’d be out front for the whole shift, giving him more of a chance to meet the regulars.

“Is there a shorter way to cut through to the tube station?” he thought to ask Mick as he was heading out of the door. “I’ve been going up Bridge Street and then left, just wondering if there’s a shortcut around the back.”

Mick looked up from his paper, mug of tea in one hand. “Yeah, there is - just turn right when you come out the door, there’s a footpath behind the pub, goes past the community centre and takes you straight through. Your mate owns the garage along there,” he added with a sly smile before taking a gulp of his tea.

“My mate?” said Callum in confusion, before realising Mick could only be talking about Ben. Ears turning red, he beat a confused and hasty retreat, Mick’s chuckles ringing in his ears.

He took the shortcut Mick had recommended. Not, obviously, because he now knew that Ben owned a garage along there - and what a bizarre fact that was that he now knew about him, he didn’t look old enough surely? - but because it was the shortest way. Even if a tiny hope had fluttered in his stomach for a moment that he might finally have an excuse to run into him, it was quickly extinguished when he remembered it was Sunday and the garage would be shut.

As Callum approached the community centre, he noticed a small, run-down children’s playground on the other side of the path. Then his breath stopped as he realised who exactly was stood in that playground.

Ben. Stood, slouched, leaning against the metal bars of the swings, texting on his phone. He looked rough, yawning his head off, Sunday morning stubble slightly out of control. Callum ducked behind the red phone box to his left, unable to help himself, not wanting to be seen just yet. He’d been beginning to wonder if he’d imagined Ben over the last few days, or at least built him up in his mind to be something more than he was. But taking another look in the warm morning sunshine, Callum couldn’t help smiling; even rough and hungover, in the middle of a tatty kids’ playground, he looked hot as hell.

“You’re not looking, Daddy!”

Startled, Callum’s gaze swung round to the small blonde girl on the swing. He’d been so focused on Ben he hadn’t even noticed her.

“I am, baby,” said Ben. “Daddy’s just making a new friend, that’s all.” He finished whatever he was texting on his phone and tucked it into his inside pocket, transferring his attention to his daughter. “Go on then, show me again.”

The girl obliged, pushing the swing back and forth while her father made appropriate noises of admiration. Callum watched them chatting away from behind the phone box, his head swirling. There was of course no reason why, in the course of a one night stand, Ben should have told him that he had a daughter, any more than he should tell him he owned a garage round the corner, but the discovery still felt like cold water had been poured over his fantasies. None of the pieces of the puzzle he was gathering here seemed to fit the picture he’d built up in his head of the person he’d spent the night with at all.

A noise from behind him made him jump. Looking around, Callum deflated with relief when a small black cat leapt up on the wall next to him with an insolent stare. It brought it home however that he’d been standing for several minutes staring at a pretty little blonde girl playing with her dad, and it could definitely give the wrong impression to a passer by.

Gathering his courage, he decided to saunter past casually, pretending he hadn’t noticed them, and to be completely shocked when Ben would no doubt call his name out in surprise. Putting his plan into action, heart hammering in his ears as he kept his eyes fixed firmly forward, the rush of disappointment when nothing happened was almost overwhelming.

He risked a glance backwards once past the playground, but Ben was still facing towards his daughter, head down with all his attention back on his phone once again. So much for Plan A. As Callum turned forward again to walk under the viaduct, he noticed the piled up tires to his left and a sign on the padlocked metal doors embedded into the railway arch - “Mitchell’s Autos”.

 _Great,_ he thought to himself with some amusement, emerging on to the street and spotting the tube station in front of him. _At least I now know his place of business so I can properly stalk him_. But by the time he’d swiped his Oyster card and made his way up to the Overground platform, amusement had begun to turn to genuine worry.

What if he actually _was_ becoming some sort of stalker? He knew his experience with relationships was pretty limited by most people’s standards, and it wasn’t as if his mental health had been stunningly great over the last year or so. To put it mildly.

He’d spent one night with Ben, with the expectation on both sides going in that this was going to be a one-off hook up. In the five days since, he’d literally moved in to the building next door, got a job in the same Square, and he now knew Ben’s full name, where he lived, his occupation and place of employment, what his daughter looked like, and was now hanging around children’s playgrounds, watching them play together at a distance.

He tried to imagine telling Vicky over lunch everything in exactly those terms, and physically recoiled at the thought. He could picture her face right now, worried eyes and all, no doubt taking his hand gently and suggesting that she knew he’d been going through a tough time and even though counselling hadn’t worked out for him that well for him the first time round, maybe it was worth giving another shot...?

Callum knew his own mind though. He sat on the quiet platform as he waited for the train to arrive, thinking it over. If you listed it out like that, it did kind of sound bad, granted, but he hadn’t set out to make any of those things happen. He did fancy Ben, and he had felt something that night that made him wonder if there had been some kind of connection there; but he wasn’t an idiot, he knew it could all be one sided. Ben had never even replied to his message he’d sent the morning after. And if Ben wasn’t interested, well, he’d move on and that would be that.

Callum was still worried though. It could look bad to anyone who didn’t know him. Coming to a decision, he dug his phone out of his pocket and opened up the hook up app. He’d fire off a short, polite message to Ben just to warn him he’d got a job in the pub next door so it didn’t come as a shock.

Clearing the backlog of notifications from the other men who’d shown interest since he’d last checked the app - though not without a slight thrill and a mental note to take a look at them later - he opened up the short thread of messages he’d exchanged with Ben, and went to type.

His fingers froze as shock and embarrassment flooded through his body.

He’d been blocked.

Callum stared in disbelief at the little black letters on his screen informing him he was unable to send a message to this user until the train pulled up with a hiss. Then he got on board and found a seat, and didn’t stop shaking with fury until he got to Hackney.

_*_

* * *

His shift that night in the Vic was less fun than he’d hoped. He thought it would be great to finally get out from the kitchen, to meet the regulars properly and hear their stories, and to get to know Tracey a bit better, the only other employee at the Queen Vic who wasn’t a member of the Carter family. But it turned out the reason he’d been trusted out in the bar alone for the first time was because the Vic was apparently dead early on a Sunday evening, half-empty with a few morose regulars staring into their pints, and it turned out Tracey had very little at all to say for herself.

Callum was out of sorts anyway. The lunch with Vicky had been emotional. They’d reminisced and raised a glass or two to Chris, and he suspected they both knew it was kind of a goodbye. They would no doubt keep in touch over Facebook and the occasional Christmas and birthday card, but they knew their shared grief was the main thing keeping them friends. Once Vicky and her boyfriend had moved into their new place, and Callum had moved on with someone new as he would no doubt one day do, the last threads keeping them close would stretch to breaking point.

Not that he’d be moving on with Ben, clearly. A swell of anger rose up in Callum again and he slammed an empty wine glass down on the bar with a little more force than it deserved, startling the customer who’d asked for it. He gave her an apologetic smile as he reached for the bottle and started pouring. If Ben didn’t want a repeat performance, then fair enough, he could have just ignored a message from Callum or given him a polite brush off - he didn’t have to _block_ him, like he was some kind of sad stalker.

He knew the anger was partly directed at himself, for acting like a lovesick teenager with a crush over the last few days, but it didn’t make the rage any less real. _Bastard_ , he thought vehemently, pushing the wine and an orange juice over to the customer and taking their money in exchange.

“Everything all right?” said the customer, looking slightly alarmed. She was a woman of around fifty or so, heavily made up for a Sunday evening with fake eyelashes and long blonde hair, but her eyes were kind as she smiled at him.

“Yeah, sorry.” He smiled back. “I didn’t mean to--” He thrust out a hand in apology. “I’m Callum.”

She shook it. “Sharon. You’re new?”

“Yeah, just started a couple of days ago.”

“Good to meet you, Callum.” She took the drinks and carried them over to a table where a bald man was sat with his arms folded, glaring suspiciously at them. He reminded Callum more than a little of his own dad, and a tiny shiver ran up his spine.

Callum calmed down a bit after that, serving customers with something more like his usual sunny disposition, and the bar began to fill up a bit as the evening wore on.

It was a little after half past nine when the main pub doors swung open and _he_ walked through. Ben. Looking good. Burgundy T-shirt and black leather jacket, turning back to say something to the young blonde woman with him as they entered the room.

He clearly hadn’t noticed Callum at all, but for Callum it was all he could do to keep his eyes off him. Like one of those arty film shots where the object of the shot comes clearly into focus while the rest of the room zooms backwards.

Callum shook his head to clear it of the silly thought and looked around wildly for help, but there was none. Tracey had vanished somewhere and he was on his own.

Ben had directed his companion to a table near the door and was taking a look around the pub, still not looking towards the bar. Callum swallowed nervously, waiting, one hand on a beer pump. Ben seemed to recognise some of the people in the room, exchanging nods with Sharon and her date.

Then, at last, after what seemed like the longest hour of Callum’s life, though it had probably only been a few seconds in reality, Ben turned back and walked towards the bar.

“Can I get a--” He stopped, frozen, mouth hanging open for a moment in shock before abruptly closing it.

Callum stood still, unsure what to say. But he was who he was, and unable to bear the awkward silence for too long, he eventually had to fill it. “Hi.” He attempted to smile. “What can I get you?”

Ben’s face finally unfroze, just a little. “You know stalking’s not a good look, don’t you?”

“I work here.”

“Since when, exactly?” He didn’t sound happy about it, and Callum was beginning to feel more than a little resentful at his tone. Ben didn’t own the pub, did he? Or Albert Square?

“Friday. I ran into Mick and Linda when I was here the other day. I’ve known them for years, used to play with their kids. They knew I was looking for a job, and they offered me one.”

“Just like that,” said Ben flatly.

Callum nodded. “Just like that.” It hadn’t escaped his attention that half the pub seemed to be riveted by their conversation; a couple of regulars propping up the bar weren’t even trying to hide their earwigging, Ben’s blonde friend had shuffled round in her seat and was leaning forward, listening intently, while Sharon at her nearby table seemed to be agog with interest, even if her companion looked bored as hell by the whole thing. “Of course,” Callum added, lowering his voice so that the nosy punters couldn’t hear, “I would’ve messaged you to give ya a heads up, just ta be polite, but I couldn’t. Seeing as you’ve blocked me.”

He had the satisfaction of seeing a flash of what looked like guilt cross Ben’s face, but it didn’t last long. After a short pause, Ben gave a twisted smile. “Pint, please. And a vodka and tonic. When you’re ready.”

Callum poured the pint first with slightly shaky fingers, silently cursing to himself as it ended up with a massive head of foam despite Mick’s patient lessons and the fact he’d been pouring them without problems most of the evening. Ben’s close presence, after thinking about him more or less constantly for the last few days, was definitely getting to him.

“Sorry,” he said, placing it on the bar. “Hang on, I’ll pour you another one--”

“You’re all right,” said Ben, picking up the pint and looking at it thoughtfully. Completely straight-faced, eyes fixed back on Callum, he added, “I can handle a bit of head.”

The empty glass Callum had just picked up slipped out of his fingers and smashed on the floor. Sarcastic applause and cheers broke out across the pub as the heat flooded across Callum’s face. Ben winked at him, bringing the pint to his lips, then licking off the foam with far too much self-satisfaction for Callum’s liking.

Tracey came scurrying up from wherever she’d been. “All right?” she asked, looking at the mess.

“Sort out Ben’s order for me, would ya Tracey?” he said. “It was a vodka and tonic, plus the pint. And I’ll just go and fetch a broom to...yeah.”

Callum fled with gratitude, taking the opportunity to escape into the beer cellar for a moment and press his over-heated forehead to the cool bricks. He allowed himself a minute or so of self-flagellation, his father’s voice ringing in his head - _daft, clumsy sod, can’t do anything right!_ \- before fetching a dustpan and brush and making his way back to the bar.

It wasn’t fair. He wanted to hold on to his anger towards Ben, all the fury that had built up in his head over the last few hours, to remember how humiliated he had felt when he realised he’d been blocked on the app. But his treacherous body had its own ideas; two minutes in Ben’s presence, and he was as attracted to him as he ever had been, all that anger ebbing away however hard he tried to hold onto it. Ben was the one in the wrong here, damn it! That smug, self-satisfied smirk he was wearing should have been irritating as hell. _Was_ irritating as hell. Definitely not sexy and irresistible. Nobody was thinking that, nobody at all.

Callum worked quietly and diligently for the next half an hour or so, serving behind the bar and managing with determination to not so much as glance towards the table where Ben and his friend were sat.

After a while, he moved back down the bar again to find Ben’s blonde companion standing there, leaning over the woodwork and smiling at him.

“Hey,” said Callum, as cheerfully as he could, trying and failing to avoid looking over at their table behind her. Ben seemed to have vanished. “What can I get you?”

“Same again, please. Vodka and tonic and a pint. He’s gone to the loo,” she added with some amusement, clearly noticing that Callum’s eyes had wandered over again.

“I wasn’t--” he began, before giving up with a sigh. He clearly wasn’t fooling her. “That’s £7.20, please.”

“I’m Lola, by the way,” she said. She was watching him carefully, head on one side as he moved around, preparing their drinks.

“Callum. Pleased to meet you.”

“Did I see you in our kitchen the other morning by any chance, Callum?” He looked up to meet her eyes, which were full of dancing laughter. But her expression was one of mischief, not mockery, and he realised he was embarrassed but not ashamed.

He shrugged, letting out an awkward laugh. “Yeah. Might’ve done.”

“Thought so. Ben wouldn’t tell me nothing. And you’re working here now?”

He told her the story, giving a little more explanation than he’d given Ben, of his history with the Carters and how he’d needed a place to stay as well and they’d been kind enough to offer him a room. He’d taken an instant liking to Lola if he was honest, and she asked cheerful questions with interest as they chatted. Ben emerged from the toilets while they were still talking, and threw them both an unhappy look as he returned to his seat.

Feeling brave, Callum risked a question in return. “So, are you and Ben family then, or...?” The alternative he supposed was that she was the mother of that little blonde girl, they certainly looked alike; but if she was Ben’s girlfriend or ex-girlfriend and they lived together, what on earth was he doing bringing one night stands back to the house?

Oh, wait, maybe she _was_ his girlfriend. She hadn’t answered, looking awkward as anything and glancing over towards Ben. Callum’s heart sank. “No...well, yes, actually. I mean, we are. It’s complicated.” She sighed and leaned forward to speak more quietly, just to Callum. “He’s my daughter’s dad. We was only kids and we were just mates, it was this one-off stupid thing, but hey, I got something beautiful out of it, right?” She smiled and he smiled right back, his heart lightening again. “But technically, we are family as well though. Cousins of some sort. Very, very distant cousins. I can never remember exactly how it works...

“Hey, Ben?” she called over to where Ben was sat, glowering into his empty pint glass.

“What?”

“How are we related again? Third or fourth cousins or something?”

Ben stared at her in disbelief, and Callum suddenly realised she was winding him up. He suppressed a smile.

“Third cousins, once removed.” The answer hadn’t come from Ben, who was still glaring furiously at Lola as though she’d been moved to the top of his personal death list, but had instead issued from the bald man sat with Sharon. Lola and Callum both turned to look at him in surprise, but he didn’t offer anything further. Instead, he drained the last of his orange juice and rose slowly to his feet. “You coming?” he said to Sharon, who quickly swallowed the final mouthful of her wine and followed him out of the pub.

They exchanged nods and smiles again with Ben as they left - or at least Sharon smiled, neither Ben nor the bald man did.

Lola made a face at Callum before picking up the drinks and taking them back to Ben, leaving Callum to stand behind the bar in bafflement. Clearly he’d missed some of the subtler points of the interaction there.

The pub was emptying as it wound slowly towards closing time. Ben and Lola didn’t seem to be in any hurry to move though, talking to each other in quiet tones. Callum kept feeling a prickle on the back of his neck, convincing himself he was being watched, but whenever he glanced over Ben wasn’t looking in his direction.

He cleared glasses and wiped down tables and poured pints and said a cheery goodbye to Martin from the market as he left, concentrating fiercely on each task in front of him and that task alone. It was a shock when the bell finally rang out behind him and Tracey’s voice echoed over the bar, “Last orders please, ladies and gents!”

The pub was almost empty now, just a small group finishing their drinks by the fireplace at one end, and Ben and Lola at the other. As Callum turned back towards the bar with a collection of used glasses clutched between his fingers in both hands, he noticed Lola slipping away from her seat with a final word to Ben. She waved to Callum as she exited through the main doors. Unable to wave back, he gave her a beaming smile instead.

Ben didn’t move, though his drink was long since finished. Sat slouched in his seat, staring at Callum, leather jacket still on despite the warm sticky humidity of the summer evening, his fingers drumming against the empty pint glass. Callum’s stomach lurched.

Walking over to the other end of the pub, he placed the collected glasses on the bar and nodded at the empties on Ben’s table. “Finished with those?”

Ben opened his hands in an expansive gesture. “All yours.”

Callum could feel Ben’s eyes on his back as he took the collected empties round the side of the bar and began to pile them together with the others. He was working on the assumption that when he next looked up, Ben would have vanished from his eyeline, following Lola out of the door. It was a surprise when instead he looked round to discover Ben was approaching the side of the bar with something like caution, looking as though he wanted to talk.

Callum moved to join him and raised an eyebrow in expectation, waiting for him to speak.

Ben hesitated for a moment. He reached up and rubbed the skin over his left eyebrow, and Callum forced himself not to smile in recognition of the gesture. Does he even know he does that? he wondered.

“Look, just wanted to say sorry about blocking you,” said Ben. “It weren’t anything personal.”

Callum was taken aback. “How is that not personal?”

Ben grimaced. “Just one of those things, okay? Don’t read anything into it.”

“I’m a grown man, Ben, I can take rejection. You didn’t fancy hooking up again, you just needed to say.”

Ben rubbed his eyebrow again, not meeting Callum’s eyes. “I don’t do long-term, okay?” he said, in an odd echo of Mick’s words from the other day. “So if you’re looking for anything more than the other night--”

“I’m not,” said Callum, but his heart skipped a beat at the lie.

“--well, if you were, you’d be better off looking somewhere else, mate.” He paused for a moment, before adding in a smaller voice. “You getting a job here, it is just a coincidence, right?”

Callum laughed. “What, you think you’re that irresistible? Yeah, it’s just a coincidence. I came in here for a drink before meeting you on Tuesday. Ran into Mick, he offered me a job and a place to stay. I needed both, I took them. Sorry to burst your bubble and all that.”

Ben was smiling, clearly relaxing. “Well, you know. It has been known to happen, blokes getting carried away after one night with me...”

“Sure it has,” said Callum drily.

Ben grinned at him. “Look, this is my local. Don’t want things to be awkward. Can we be mates?”

Mates. A tiny part of Callum wanted to shout no, of course not, how could they be mates after the other night? Hadn’t Ben felt the same connection he had? But the rest of him, ever practical, not to mention not willing to reveal too much about himself or give anyone any ammunition they could use against him, plastered on an easy smile instead. “Yeah, why not. Mates.” After all, he didn’t know many people around here other than the Carters, who were older and had their own lives to lead. If it was all that was on offer, he’d take it. He could do with a mate.

“What was your name again?” said Ben, and he held out a hand.

Callum’s guts twisted inside him, and he swallowed down the stab of sadness that threatened to overwhelm him. So much for feeling a connection. He couldn’t have misread that night more wrong, could he? But he didn’t let it show, keeping his smile fixed firmly in place as he reached out and shook Ben’s hand. “Callum. Callum Highway.”

“Ben Mitchell.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Saturday 15 June**

Callum had hoped that Ben’s offer of being ‘mates’ might lead to them being, well, actually friends. 

He was beginning to settle into the routine of his new life; the work was pleasant enough, he enjoyed the buzz of the pub even if Linda wasn’t letting him have free reign in the kitchen yet, and the Carters were lovely if slightly chaotic people. But they were distracted by their own lives. Mick and Linda in particular seemed preoccupied and distant after a visit to the doctor with little Ollie early in the week, becoming moody and snapping at everyone, but when pressed by Shirley would only fob her off with some story about failing to get tickets to a Spice Girls concert. The bad mood then seemed to infect Shirley, before spreading to Tina, who was beginning to stress about the opening of the Prince Albert, an event for which she seemed weirdly unprepared despite her obvious enthusiasm for the job.

The atmosphere in the flat above the pub had definitely turned sour. Callum stayed out of it all, working diligently in the bar downstairs, and exploring the borough of Walford during his time off instead. The gloss of his new life had worn off surprisingly quickly, and he couldn’t help checking his phone every few minutes in the forlorn hope there might be a text message, wondering if he was going to be as lonely here as he had been in Hackney.

He’d exchanged numbers with Ben, Sunday night in the pub - at Callum’s suggestion, partly to test how serious he was about this ‘being mates’ thing, but Ben had seemed willing enough to swap digits without a fuss. But there was absolutely no way Callum was going to send a text first, not after the whole blocking incident. It would have to come from Ben.

Callum was a people person, always had been. He liked having people around, making friends, forming connections. It was one of the better things about being in the Army for him; not that you always got on with everyone you served with, and yeah, he was under no illusions about the laddish culture there making his coming out journey any easier. But that feeling of being part of something bigger, part of a team? It was something that had been missing from his life ever since his discharge. 

It sometimes felt as though he was flailing around in the dark at the moment, having lost hold of the hand that had been leading him on, with no idea what was out there in the darkness for him to hold on to again.

He had a vague idea that making some new friends in his new life here might help with that, finding his place in the world again. The trouble was, it was almost like he’d forgotten the knack. Old, easy-going Halfway, who got along with everyone and was always invited for a drink had been lost somewhere along the way. The last eighteen months of pain and grief had knocked his confidence, made him forget how to do the things that had once come naturally.

He did see Ben a few times over the course of the week; walking along the other side of the street with his little girl, sharing a milkshake with her in the café, coming in for a drink in the Vic a couple of times, once with Lola and once with a red-haired man who later introduced himself to Callum as Jay. Callum got a nod of acknowledgement each time and even a smile once or twice, but it was the kind of smile you’d give a casual acquaintance out of politeness. Still no texts. After a few days of this, the faint glow of hope in Callum’s chest grew dimmer and dimmer until it was all but extinguished. Ben really wasn’t interested, even in being friends, and he just had to accept that.

Callum was continuing to get to know the other pub regulars though. During a shift behind the bar on a quiet Thursday evening, he spent a while chatting to an attractive young woman named Whitney, his predecessor at the Vic apparently, who’d just set up a new stall on the market. She was a nice girl, and he was enjoying hearing her describe her clothing designs and plans for the business, eyes glowing and hands waving around expressively, until Shirley swept past, collecting glasses.

“You’re barking up the wrong tree there, Whit,” called Shirley, stomping back behind the bar.

Whitney coloured, touching her hair in a nervous gesture, and Callum looked round at Shirley in confusion.

“What?”

“Not for the first time, eh, Whitney?” Shirley continued with a knowing smirk.

Whitney looked confused for a moment, then her shoulders slumped and her face fell as realisation dawned. “Oh, you’re kidding me. Anyway, that was years ago, Shirl.”

“I’ve missed something here,” said Callum nervously, feeling, not for the first time, that he’d missed the joke.

“It’s nothing,” said Whitney, giving Shirley a hard look. “I...had a bit of a thing with Johnny once. Really briefly. Before he came out.” She peered at Callum, head on one side. “That is what Shirley meant, right? You’re into blokes?”

Callum nodded. “Sorry. I didn’t realise you were, um...” This was nothing new. As a teenager, he’d never realised when girls were flirting with him either. It had taken him long enough to realise what was really going on with him and Chris too. It was one of the things that made him dread the thought of putting himself out there once he was ready to start looking for love again, and had made him turn to a hook up app instead of going to a bar; how on earth did you know when someone was interested in you rather than just being friendly?

“Yeah, well.” She shrugged and laughed. “I thought it was too good to be true. Tall, gorgeous, decent fella turning up round here who’s both single _and_ straight, what are the chances?”

He ducked his head down in embarrassment at her description while she grinned at him. Then she suddenly clapped her hands together, making him jump. “Ooh! Are you going to the opening of the Prince Albert on Saturday?”

“Uh, probably? I promised Tina I’d support her--” He was a little worried about it if he was honest. Gay bars weren’t really his thing. He’d been to a couple with Chris, years back, but he’d still been finding his feet back then, so to speak, and he’d never really felt comfortable there. And his vague promise to Tina to help her out with the launch night seemed fraught with potential danger; he liked Tina a lot, but she didn’t seem like the most organised person in the world. Her to-do lists for the opening currently consisted of a lot of post-it notes and scraps of paper all over the Carters’ kitchen table.

“You should come with us!” said Whitney. “I mean, a whole bunch of us are going together to the opening night, to see what it’s like. It should be a laugh. If you don’t have any other plans, and you fancied getting to know some of the people round here? But only if you want to!”

Callum looked at her, dazzled by her kind smile, and found himself agreeing to meet her and her friends in the Prince Albert on Saturday night before he’d had a chance to think about it. His break was over by then and he made his way back behind the bar with a slight sinking feeling. He didn’t want to be churlish, or ungrateful to kind Whitney and her eager eyes, but when he’d thought about trying to find some new friends, he hadn’t quite pictured himself going to a gay bar with a group of (presumably) drunk straight women, no doubt shrieking with laughter at what they were going to see there. It wasn’t a mental picture Callum could summon up a great deal of enthusiasm for to be honest.

He turned to smile at Whitney, who beamed back and gave him a wave from her seat. He really, really hoped she wasn’t viewing him as her new gay BFF. It wasn’t a role he could see himself playing. Then he chided himself for being unkind. New start, new experiences, right? He’d promised Tina he’d make an appearance anyway, there was no harm in going along on Saturday night and giving Whitney and her friends a chance. If it was awful, he could always make an excuse and come back home.

Before he could get to Saturday night, however, he needed to survive Friday and the rest of Saturday first. It turned out that was going to involve a lot more hard work than originally planned.

Friday was supposed to be his day off, but a panicked, breathless phone call from Tina had led him to the Prince Albert on the Friday afternoon. He stood in the middle of the floor and surveyed the, what could only charitably be called, chaos.

“Tina?” he called out, not too loudly, almost in the hope she wouldn’t hear him.

Tina’s head popped up from behind what might be the bar, though it was hard to tell through all the piles of cardboard boxes. “Callum? Oh, thank god! Shirley’s gone awol, Mick and Linda say they can’t help cos they’re working, two of the people I hired have already quit and I can’t spare any of the others from handing out flyers so I’ve got no one to help me finish setting up, and one of my suppliers let me down and I had to spend four hours on the phone this afternoon as otherwise we’d be opening a gay bar tomorrow night with no spirits behind the bar and That. Can’t. Happen. Help me? Please?”

He gaped at her. “Not really sure what I can do, Teen...”

“You’re tall! You can move tables and assemble furniture and stand on a stepladder and do decorations for me! Please, Halfway? Just today and for a couple of hours tomorrow? Kathy’s gonna kill me if she comes in and sees it like this.”

“Kathy?” he said in surprise. “From the caff?” Lovely motherly Kathy, always with an apron on, doling out tea and bacon rolls to the market traders of Walford?

“Yes! She’s the owner, didn’t you know? She’ll be here any minute, at least help me unpack these boxes...”

He managed to get her to calm down and start breathing again with some reassuring words and by eventually managing to track down her to-do list under a pile of glittery rainbow bunting. An hour or so later, they’d at least managed to make a dent in some of the boxes and unwrap some of the plastic from the newly delivered furniture. Callum was on his knees, hidden behind a pile of flat-pack chairs he was patiently screwing together, when he heard a voice from the doorway;

“What the...? Tina!”

He scrambled to his feet to see Kathy from the caff, looking far more business-like than he was used to with a smart jacket on, picking her way through the mess with a horrified expression.

“I thought you said it was all under control!”

Tina came rushing up from the lower level of the bar. “I did! I mean, it is. Or it will be, we just had a couple of setbacks. But it looks worse than it is, we’ve got all of tomorrow to sort this out. Trust me, Kath, by tomorrow night, this place is going to look fabulous. I won’t let you down,” she said with a confident smile.

It wasn’t really fooling Callum, who was deeply alarmed by all the ‘we’s in that speech - did that ‘we’ include him? - but Kathy seemed somewhat mollified.

“All right. But I’m trusting you here, Tina. I can’t spare any time to help out tomorrow, I mean it. I told you, I’ve got too much stuff to sort out at home. I’ll try and pop in for half an hour tomorrow evening though.”

“You’re not going to be here for the launch?” said Tina in surprise.

“No,” said Kathy. “Like I said, I’ve got important family stuff going on. But Ben’ll be here. I’ll see if I can get him to give you a hand setting up as well, though I don’t fancy your chances.”

Callum nearly choked. He’d returned to assembling his chair as the women had talked, feeling superfluous to the conversation, and he’d been holding a screw in his lips just as Kathy had said Ben’s name. It was lucky he hadn’t swallowed it. He spat it out into his hand, and said “Ben?” as casually as he could manage.

Kathy glanced at him but didn’t reply. “Yeah. I need to be off, Tina, but call me if you need anything.”

Once she’d gone, Callum emerged from his pile of disassembled chair bits and tried again. “When she said she’d ask Ben to help, did she mean Ben Mitchell?” He managed to keep his voice fairly calm, but he had a horrible feeling his ears were turning red and giving him away once again.

Tina gave him an odd look. “Yeah, she’s his mum. How do you know Ben?” She put her head on one side, her eyes widening. “Oh, no, you _haven’t_? Not Ben.”

He avoided her gaze. “I was just wondering.”

“Oh, Halfway. I’d steer clear of that lot if I were you. Not Kathy, Kathy’s lovely - the Mitchells. Not nice people.”

He didn’t answer, picking his screwdriver back up and returning to his task with determination. She dropped the subject after that, getting on with stocking the bar and chattering excitedly about her plans for tomorrow night.

This was the third time someone had cautioned Callum to stay away from Ben or his family in vague terms after Mick and Shirley’s warnings the other week; but maybe it was just the Carter family that had a problem with them? He could always ask for more details, but the combination of potential embarrassment of looking too interested and fear of the answers he might get was putting him off.

He’d been given another piece of the puzzle though. Who would have thought nice Kathy from the caff, who’d given him an extra cup of tea with his breakfast once, was both Ben’s mum and the owner of Tina’s gay bar? And he now knew that Ben would be coming to the opening the next night...

He remembered his promise to meet Whitney and her friends and for a moment almost considered cancelling, not sure if that was the image he wanted to present to Ben. But Whitney would be hurt if he cancelled on her and she later saw him there on his own anyway, and he dismissed the thought almost as soon as it entered his mind.

* * *

Saturday was a long and gruelling day of work, as he suspected it would be - so much for ‘a couple of hours in the morning’ - but somehow, with a superhuman effort, Tina was able to release everyone by six pm to go home and get changed, ready for the opening. He was so knackered from his efforts that once again, Callum almost considered cancelling on Whitney and having a bath and an early night instead; but not wanting to be rude, he hauled himself into the shower and managed to talk himself into looking forward to a night out.

He honestly wasn’t sure whether the fact he knew Ben Mitchell would probably be there was a factor in his decision to go or not. He hoped it wasn’t. Ben couldn’t have made it any clearer he wasn’t interested. But there was always that tiny flutter of hope that Callum failed to snuff out completely, it was in his nature.

Ben hadn’t shown up to help them out with the setting up of course, but Callum hadn’t really thought he would. His mother hadn’t exactly seemed confident about it.

In the end, Callum set out for the Prince Albert that evening with a spring in his step, hair freshly gelled and his best shirt on. He’d worked damn hard over the last 36 hours for no reward - thank you Tina - and he was going to enjoy the fruits of his labours.

The bar was already getting busy when he arrived thanks to Tina’s social media efforts and the favours she’d managed to pull in from friends.

“Hey, you came!” Whitney looked genuinely pleased to see him, and Callum felt a twinge of guilt at his unkind thoughts of cancelling. She and her friend had managed to find a table squeezed into the corner. Callum glanced around, proud of his and Tina’s work; the bar was already buzzing, full of life.

“This is Ruby,” Whitney added, introducing her friend. They were both dressed up to the nines, but looked happy rather than falling over drunk. “The others aren’t here yet.”

“Yeah,” said Ruby, rolling her eyes. “There was some sort of big Mitchell dinner tonight. Jay said he didn’t expect it to finish too late because they needed to get all the kids in bed, but you know what that lot are like - it probably all kicked off over the pudding, Jay’ll be calming Ben down somewhere before he goes off on one. Bet you he doesn’t even show up, when it was Ben who dragged us all here in the first place! Sorry,” she added, turning to Callum. “I’m being rude, you don’t need to hear about my boyfriend’s family dramas. So, tell me about you: Callum, was it?”

Callum was aware his mouth was hanging open and managed to close it. The jolt that had shot through him at the word ‘Mitchell’ was nothing compared to the sensation when the word ‘Ben’ had rolled so casually off her tongue like that, like it was nothing. 

A dozen and one questions fought for control of his tongue before he managed to squash them all down and answer her politely. “Yeah. And it’s fine, don’t worry. So who else are we expecting tonight then?”

It was Whitney who answered for her. “Jay - that’s Ruby’s boyfriend; Ben, Jay’s best friend; and Lola.”

Ruby didn’t look too pleased at the last one, her face contorting at Lola’s name, but she only added, “My best friend Stacey was going to come along, but doesn’t look like she’ll make it now.”

She and Whitney kept chatting, telling Callum about Stacey and her kids, but once it was clear that no more information about Ben was going to be forthcoming, Callum tuned them out slightly, glancing around the room and over towards the door with a growing sense of anticipation. As he looked round, he noticed a tall, olive-skinned man with close-cropped hair and high cheekbones was looking back at him. Their eyes met and the stranger smiled at him, raising one eyebrow as he held Callum’s gaze.

Callum felt himself flushing and quickly looked away. “I’m going to the bar, can I get anyone a drink?” he offered, but the girls declined, indicating their full glasses before resuming their conversation.

Callum risked another glance over to the group drinking and dancing by the door, but the man who’d held his gaze earlier was no longer there. Feeling a slight sense of disappointment, Callum made his way to the bar, pulling up short as he realised that was where the tall man had also disappeared to.

His handsome stranger was leaning over the bar, displaying off a lean body to advantage as he ordered a round of drinks. Feeling bold, Callum slid into the conveniently empty spot next to him and waited to be noticed.

The stranger noticed him first, eyebrows lifting as he smiled a lazy smile. “Hi.”

“Hi,” said Callum, hoping he sounded a hell of a lot more cool and confident than he felt, shoving his hands into his back pockets in an attempt to stop them from shaking. This also had the advantage of stopping him from holding them out for a handshake as he stupidly had in the past.

“I’m Anton.”

“Callum.”

The barman returned to complete Anton’s order and ask for payment at this point, saving Callum from having to think of something else to say; which was lucky, because he really hadn’t thought any further than this point. This, _this_ was why he hated the thought of doing it this way, meeting guys in bars; this guy had made eye contact with Callum first, but now he wasn’t saying anything. Was he interested or not? And if he _was_ interested, how was Callum supposed to know if he was just looking for a casual hook up or something else? The awkwardness of it all made him want to run home and hide under the duvet for a month, but something else made him keep his feet where they were. New job, new life, new experiences, new him, remember? He kept Chris in the back of his mind, telling him again that he can do anything he fucking well wants to - Callum winced slightly at the swearword while he was still sober, but that was Chris for you - and waved the barman down to order an IPA.

Anton hadn’t moved from the bar yet, despite having his own order. He waited until Callum had his bottle of beer in hand before picking up his tray of drinks and catching Callum’s eye again. “I’d better take these before my friends die of thirst,” he said, still with that same beautiful smile. “You sticking around for a bit?”

“Uh, yeah,” said Callum, returning the smile. “I’ll be here for a while.”

“Maybe see you around,” said Anton, and as they threaded their way together through the dancefloor and up the couple of steps to the upper level before parting, Callum couldn’t wipe the disbelieving grin from his face.

He was in such a daydream at how successfully he’d navigated that potentially awkward encounter, that it took him a moment to realise their group had expanded since he’d left it. Jay and Lola had arrived and had found chairs from somewhere, cramming around the small table as they greeted Ruby and Whitney, all talking over each other. And Ben. He glanced up as Callum arrived, hands on the back of Lola’s chair, but his expression gave nothing away.

“So, who was _that_?” said Whitney, leaning forward, her eyes sparkling.

Callum froze under her gaze. “Who was who?”

“Uh, tall, dark and ridiculously gorgeous you were speaking to,” said Whitney. “The one who was checking you out before, too.”

“You’re a dark horse,” said Ruby, grinning. “Been here five minutes and you’ve pulled the fittest bloke in the place!”

“His name’s Anton,” said Callum quietly. He couldn’t stop himself, he looked over to see how Ben was reacting, but not a flicker of interest crossed his face. Ben had found a chair from somewhere and was slumped down in it, looking at his phone.

“He’s looking over again,” said Whitney, gesturing with one perfectly manicured hand. “I think you’re well in there...”

Everyone at the table looked to where she was pointing and Callum was sure his insides had just shrivelled up and died of embarrassment. “Can we talk about something else, please?” he begged. “Or can I get anyone a drink?”

“Nope,” said Ben, suddenly abandoning his phone and jumping to his feet. “My round. We’re doing shots. Jay, give me a hand?” He pulled his friend, or possibly brother - Callum still hadn’t quite worked out that relationship yet - to his feet, and shoved him in the direction of the bar.

“No, not shots, Ben, I’ve got to pick Lexi up from Pops’ first thing in the morning,” protested Lola, but Ben wasn’t listening. She sighed. “Ben!”

Callum watched Ben and Jay as they disappeared among the crowd, then turned his attention back to the group at the door. Whitney had been right; Anton _was_ looking at him again. They exchanged glances and smiles, before Callum turned back to pick up his drink with a warm feeling in his stomach.

Some time later, the table was littered with empty glasses, the conversation was several decibels louder, and Callum was feeling pleasantly drunk to the extent of wondering if he was brave enough to approach his tall, handsome stranger. He was having a good night, all things considered. The group was a laugh after all, and he’d discovered a mutual love of West Ham with Jay; they’d been enjoying a very involved conversation about tactics for next season before, laughing, the girls had begged them to stop. He’d exchanged a few more lingering glances with the guy by the door, but Anton seemed content to hang back rather than approaching him for now, and Callum was grateful for it.

He wasn’t sure how he felt about pursuing things any further. The bloke was definitely good-looking, there was no doubt about that, and the fact he seemed genuinely interested in Callum was hugely flattering and was making his skin tingle in no small way. But there wasn’t that instant rush of attraction like there had been the first time he’d met...well, Ben.

Speaking of Ben...

Callum’s eyes slid over again to the man next to him. Somehow, among all the various swapping of seats as people got up and down to dance and visit the bar and the loos, he’d ended up squashed in the seat next to Ben, so close he’d barely have to move his little finger in order to reach out and touch him. He’d tried to play it cool, to ignore Ben as effectively as Ben was ignoring him, but as the drinks flowed he found his eyes drifting sideways more and more. Ben had drunk far more than anyone else at the table, and as the evening wore on had abandoned his earlier sullen disposition and was now in full flow, telling some story with gesticulating limbs. It was a captivating sight. Callum found himself drinking in the sight of Ben’s animated face, letting his gaze drift over his stubble, down his neck, remembering how it had tasted under his mouth...then watching his fingers, fidgeting back and forth as he talked. Memories of what those hands had done to him filled his head, and Callum swallowed and looked away.

“No way,” said Whitney, sounding disgusted at the ending of Ben’s story. “So you conned them, basically?”

Ben shrugged, taking another sip of his beer. “Hey, I lost out too, had to get rid of the rest of the motors after that. Had to make sure I came out with something though, didn’t I?” He grinned sideways at Callum, making eye contact for virtually the first time all evening, as though he’d forgotten to keep ignoring him. They held each other’s gaze for a moment, the air becoming thicker, before Ben turned away.

“Right, more shots!” A chorus of groans and ‘No, Ben...’ greeted him, but he ignored them all, drumming his hands on the table. “Yes! Your turn, soldier boy, get them in.”

“Soldier boy?” said Ruby, wrinkling her nose in confusion.

“I, er, used to be in the Army, said Callum, rising to his feet. “Same again?”

“I’ll help,” said Lola, staggering upwards, as Jay turned to Ben, brow furrowed, and asked, “But how did _you_ know that?”

They made their way to the bar, where Callum tried in vain to attract the attention of one of the bartenders. The noise levels were reaching unbearable proportions now, loud pop music competing with the chattering crowds.

Lola dug her elbow into Callum’s side as they waited and he turned to look at her in surprise. “You all right?”

“Yeah, fine, thanks,” he said, wondering where the question had come from. “You?”

She ignored him, watching the gyrating bodies on the dancefloor for a moment before looking him in the eye again. “I’ve bin watching you. You’ve got a bit of a thing for Ben, haven’t ya?”

Callum knew his ears were probably turning red. He looked up to the ceiling and tried to think how to respond. “Um...”

“That’s why you’re not doing anything about that fella giving ya the eye.” She nodded towards the dancefloor. Callum followed her gaze and saw Anton, unashamedly throwing himself into the music with his group of friends.

“Even if you were right,” said Callum slowly, “it don’t make a difference. He ain’t interested.” He turned back to the bar with the aim of catching the bartender, hoping that Lola would drop the subject.

Lola paused, looking awkward for a moment; then placed her arms on the bar, getting close to Callum so she could shout in his ear over the music.

“Look,” she said. “I don’t know what goes on in Ben’s head half the time. No one does. But I do know that the day after you stayed the night at ours, he was in the mankiest mood all day, stomping around, biting my head off...”

“And that’s supposed to make me feel better, is it?” said Callum, completely confused.

“I think that means he _likes_ ya. A lot. It’s just...he ain’t good at letting people in.”

He turned his head to stare at her in disbelief. “He blocked my messages, Lola. And he’s bin ignoring me for the last week and a half!”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, that sounds about right. Look, he’s my little girl’s dad and I love him, but he’s got a lot of issues. Wouldn’t blame you if you ran a mile. I’m just saying, if you wanted to give it another chance...I don’t think he would knock ya back, that’s all.”

Callum continued to stare at her, speechless, unable to get his head around any of this. They placed their order when the barman appeared, and then made their way back towards their table with their drinks, Callum’s head still spinning. As they negotiated their way around the edge of the dancefloor, Callum suddenly found his way was blocked. Looking up, he found he’d come face to face with Anton.

“Hello again.”

Callum swallowed. “Hi.”

“I’ll take these, shall I?” said Lola, taking the tray of shots from Callum’s unresisting hands and disappearing with it.

Anton jerked his head, indicated they should step to one side, out of the way of the flailing limbs of the dancers trying to boogie as best they could in a tiny space. They found a quiet corner and Anton leaned in close to be heard, his breath tickling Callum’s cheek. He was as tall as Callum, if not slightly taller, and it was an odd feeling, though a nice one to be loomed over like this. Tiny butterflies were dancing in Callum’s stomach and his skin felt like it was humming. Anton was definitely attractive, there was no doubt about that...

“So, my friends are going on to another club in a minute,” he said, eyes fixed on Callum’s. “Was wondering if you felt like getting out of here, going somewhere quieter, just you and me? My place isn’t far.”

For one brief moment, it was as though the music had stopped and the night turned silent as the thoughts swirled around Callum’s head. He was flattered and more than a little turned on. It made perfect sense to go home with Anton; this was what he’d set out to do, right? Try new experiences, enjoy being young, free and single? But as much as his head was telling him he should say yes, his gut was saying something different. For whatever reason, it just didn’t feel right.

His expression must have given him away before he even opened his mouth, as Anton stepped back, looking slightly pissed off. “I’m sorry,” said Callum quickly, not sure how he could explain. “Only tonight’s not a good night--”

“It’s fine,” said Anton. “Night’s still young.”

“Maybe another time...?”

“Whatever.” And he was gone.

Callum stood for a moment in the corner, trying to work out if he’d done the right thing. He felt unpleasantly sober, like the conversation had had the same effect as a cold shower and three cups of coffee. The mellow buzz of the alcohol had worn off to be replaced by the mocking voices that so often slid into his head these days when he was alone. _Best offer you’re probably ever gonna get, mate_. Had he really just turned down someone that fit - and for what? Please not because of what Lola said, Callum pleaded with himself. Whatever she thought about it, he knew he’d just be making a fool of himself if he threw himself at Ben.

Shaking his head, Callum pulled himself away from his corner and headed back to their table; but pulled up sharp, confused. The group had all vanished, strangers now claiming the seats they’d been sitting in before.

He looked wildly around the bar, confused and a bit hurt. Had they gone on somewhere else without him? Had they seen him talking to Anton and assumed he was going to leave without saying goodbye?

Eventually, he managed to spot Lola and Whitney, dancing to some 80s classic in the middle of the press of bodies on the dancefloor. Lola caught his eye and frowned at him, eyebrow raised, before pointing upwards with her finger towards the ceiling and mouthing something that could have been ‘ _upstairs!_ ’.

Following her directions, Callum headed up the stairs to the upper level of the bar. It was a little less hot and crowded up here, and he felt as though he could breathe more easily. He glanced around but still couldn’t see the rest of their group; then he spotted Ben, outside on the balcony running around the top level of the Albert, leaning over the rail. Callum went outside to join him.

“Hey, it’s soldier boy,” said Ben, not looking round. He continued to gaze into the distance, taking a slug from the bottle dangling from his hand.

“All right?” Callum stood next to Ben, leaning his own arms on the rail of the balcony and looking over the street below. The metal felt cool against his forearms and the slight breeze drifting over them was a welcome relief from the stuffiness of the bar. “Where did everyone go?”

“Jay and Ruby went home. Lightweights. The others are around somewhere.” Ben finally flicked his eyes over to Callum, but looked away again just as quickly. “What happened to Cheekbones? Saw you downstairs, thought you’d have left with him.”

“Cheekbones?” said Callum, his lips quirking up. There had been a definite whiff of bitterness in the way Ben had said that, but he didn’t dare read too much into it.

“I know you’re bit new to all this, mate, but you need to get back down there, give him the nod. The signals he’s giving you could be seen from space.”

“I know,” said Callum with a shrug. “He invited me home. I just didn’t feel like it tonight.”

Ben turned around in astonishment, shifting his weight against the balcony rail as he frowned. “Oh no no no, Rule One, my little baby gay; you never, ever turn down sex when it’s offered to you on a plate. Even if it would be like going from prime rib to McKlunky’s,” he added, with a gesture that made it clear he was referring to himself, and Callum laughed, his heart lifting. That tiny flicker of hope had rekindled that maybe Lola wasn’t talking nonsense after all. Anton had been ridiculously good-looking - Callum was still in disbelief that he’d been interested at all - and even if Ben was passing it off as a joke, he was definitely sounding slightly bitter, if not jealous. But jealous of who?

“’Baby gay’?” repeated Callum lightly. “I’m older than you!”

“Ah, but you’re still only tiptoeing out the closet, even now,” said Ben. Callum was watching him carefully, trying to read his expression, but his face was closed off and hard to read. “See, you had the great love of your life, but that was pretty much it, right? You told me I was the first after that. You need to get yourself out there, mate, find out what you’re into, enjoy yourself a bit. Sow some oats, crack some nuts...Weren’t that why you set up your profile? Trust me,” he said with a sigh, “sex is a great stress reliever.”

“What about you, then?” said Callum. “Why aren’t you down there, looking to relieve some stress tonight?”

“I ain’t stressed,” snapped Ben, and Callum could only raise an eyebrow at him. He still found the younger man hard to read, but from his sulky silence when he’d arrived to the amount he’d drunk tonight, something was clearly not quite right. Ben dropped his gaze, turning away from the street to rest his weight back on his elbows and look through the windows of the bar before changing the subject. “D’ya know, I’m pretty certain my mum only bought this place so she could find me a steady boyfriend, stop me from hooking up with randoms.”

Callum laughed. “You’re kidding?”

“And is she even here?” Ben continued. “Nah, she’s at home, moved on to the next problem child already.” He said it quietly, as though he was talking more to himself than to Callum.

After a pause, Callum said, “She did mention she had some family stuff going on yesterday, when I was helping Tina out.”

Ben stared through the bar windows, looking miles away.“My nephew moved home today. Should be...interesting. I’ve not seen him yet.” He let out a deep sigh. “You need to keep that one to yourself, mate, no one knows yet. He’s got some history around here.” Ben looked back at Callum with a twisted smile. “See, it’s great talking to you, you don’t know _anything_. This place is like a village sometimes, you can’t escape the gossips and all these wankers who just can’t keep their noses out.” He took another swig from the bottle he was holding, and Callum gathered his nerve to ask the question on the tip of his tongue.

“Has something happened, Ben?” He wasn’t prepared for the flash of anger as Ben rounded on him.

“You don’t know me. Don’t talk to me like you know me. We had a one night stand, and you’re now hanging round my manor for some reason - doesn’t give ya the right to talk to me like we’re old friends.”

Callum swallowed. “Okay.” But he didn’t apologise, and he said nothing further, waiting patiently. He felt like he was maybe beginning to get the measure of Ben’s mood swings and suspected he wouldn’t have long to wait.

He was right. After a short moment or two, Ben’s shoulders slumped and he leaned back against the barrier again. “Sorry. Might be in a bit of a mood. We had a family dinner tonight. Wanna know another secret?” He leaned in with the exaggerated care of the drunk and whispered, “My step mum - my fifty-year-old stepmother - is _pregnant_.” He laughed, but it was a laugh with absolutely no humour in it, and the bitterness in it twisted at Callum’s soul.

“I feel like you don’t want me to say congratulations.”

“Nah, of course you should!” said Ben, gesturing with the beer bottle. “It’s great news, right? I don’t think I’ve ever seen Dad this happy. And why wouldn’t he be? ‘s a chance to get it right this time, none of the screw ups this go round. But,” he added, one finger pointing at Callum, but eyes darting around, looking anywhere else, “he _will_ screw it up. Mark my words. ‘swhat he does. Me, Lou, Jay,...He’ll do it to Denny, he’ll do it to the new one.”

Callum stayed quiet, barely daring to breathe for fear of breaking the spell. Whether it was the sheer quantity of vodka Ben had downed that night, or the words just needing to be said and Callum as a convenient sounding board, it was as if a dam had burst and a flood of rage and pain was beginning to pour out.

“At least Jay escaped,” Ben went on. “Course, he ain’t really family, not really, so Jay could do that, walk away. Me? I’ll never escape.” The last words were spoken quietly, barely above a whisper, and Callum wasn’t sure he was even meant to hear them.

Ben raised his beer bottle to his lips again, looked disgusted to discover it was empty, then let it fall to the balcony floor with a thud. It fell onto its side and rolled away with a clinking sound. Both men watched it go until it fetched up against a chair leg and rolled to a stop.

Callum cleared his throat. “My dad was--” He stopped. How could he begin to describe his own dad? How would comparing notes help, exactly? It would sound like he was turning it into a competition. _Bet you my dad was worse than your dad, wanna compare bruises?_

Ben was watching him carefully. “Go on.”

“It don’t matter.”

Ben scoffed. “Yeah, well, if you’re gonna tell me you ‘get it’, or that ya know exactly what it feels like to grow up as Phil Mitchell’s deaf, gay son, I’ve got news for you, _mate_.” He bit off the last consonant between his teeth, the sound hanging in the air between them.

Callum stared down at his hands, clasped together in front of him as he leaned against the balcony rail. He was feeling uncomfortably sober in contrast to Ben’s intoxication, and as he so often did, awkward in his own skin, oddly aware of his own body; long, thick limbs he couldn’t quite control and large hands he didn’t know what to do with. He could hear the years of pain ringing through behind Ben’s words but had no idea what to say or do in response. He was dying to ask about the deaf part - Ben was communicating with him with no problems, not even looking at him as they talked - but knew this was absolutely not the time to do it.

“I’ve seen you with your daughter,” said Callum eventually, choosing his words with care. “You look really happy together. Lola seems to think you’re doing great with her.”

Ben’s face softened. “My little princess.” He paused before bursting out with, “I’ll never do to Lexi what he did to me, never. Never, not for one day in her life, will she ever feel the way he made me feel. She’ll always come first.” He glanced up at Callum and grimaced. “Don’t know why I keep telling you all sorts of shit when I’ve had a skinful,” he mumbled. “You don’t want to hear it.” He had a faintly apologetic air, as though he had only just realised how much he’d revealed, and Callum kept his own reply light in response.

“I’ve just got one of them faces, haven’t I? People tell me things. Should come in handy as a barman.”

Ben laughed. “What, like a priest? Hearing confession? Hope you’re not expecting me to start confessing all my sins, we’d be here a _very_ long time.” His tone had changed, becoming flirtatious.

Callum shuffled sideways, moving closer, and looked straight into his eyes. “Sounds all right to me.”

Ben was still smiling, looking up at him and not moving away. Feeling brave, Callum reached out one hand and then the other, cupping Ben’s face between them. He didn’t resist as Callum moved in to close the gap between them, pulling Ben’s head towards him between his hands, and bringing their lips together.

Ben melted willingly into the kiss, opening his mouth and bringing his hands up to rest on the small of Callum’s back. The taste of the beer Ben had just finished, the smell of his aftershave, the feel of his stubble under Callum’s fingers were all overwhelming his senses. All of Callum’s nerve endings hummed happily as he explored Ben’s mouth.

How long they stayed like that he wasn’t sure, but eventually a wolf whistle from another of the Albert’s punters farther along the balcony broke into their silence, shattering the spell. Callum still had his hands either side of Ben’s head, and he kept them there as they pulled apart, steadying them both. He felt dazed and Ben looked much the same.

Ben blinked a few times, looking frankly blissed out, before running his hands along Callum’s forearms and grasping his wrists, pulling his arms away. He stepped back and suddenly there seemed to be a gulf of air between them again.

“This...is a really bad idea,” said Ben. His voice was a little hoarse and he cleared his throat.

“Why?” said Callum. He stepped forward again; not pushing Ben, but getting in his space.

Ben smiled sadly at him. “You seem like a really good guy, Callum. And I’m not.”

“You hardly know me.”

“Yeah, and you don’t know _anything_ about me. You’re best off keeping it that way.” Ben reached up and rubbed his hand over his head, looking sheepish. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have unloaded all that crap on you. It’ll teach me to mix my drinks...”

“I don’t mind, Ben,” said Callum. The moment had been lost and he didn’t know how to get it back; he could see Ben pulling away from him again, the mask going back up, and it was so frustrating he could have punched the nearest wall. “You can tell me stuff if you want--"

“I don’t want,” said Ben harshly. “I’ve got friends and family for that, more than I can handle to tell you the truth. And if I want sex, I’ve got plenty of options for that too. I don’t need anything from you.” He took a deep breath, hands clenched into fists by his sides. “I’m sorry, Callum. I can’t give you what you’re looking for. You should have gone home with Cheekbones.”

With that, he was gone, pushing past Callum and back into the bar. Callum slumped back against the wall and avoided the gazes of the other drinkers on the balcony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, for those who weren't watching or had forgotten, the Mitchell family dinner where Phil revealed Sharon was pregnant to everyone, the opening of the Prince Albert, and Bobby's return home to the Beales all took place in the same episode last year (Friday 14 June). It felt like a good combination of events to move things forward a bit in this fic! We don't know if Ben went on from that dinner to the opening night of the Prince Albert in canon, but why not?
> 
> This was also the episode where Callum met Ben on the park bench to tell him to leave him alone ("there'll be no Round 2") but obviously that didn't happen in this universe...


	6. Chapter 6

**Monday 24 June 2019**

“I can’t believe she _still_ hasn’t told me.” Linda was still not happy. It had been just over a week since the opening of the Prince Albert and Callum’s rather disastrous encounter with Ben.

It had also been nearly as long since Callum had overheard Mick and Linda discussing her best friend Sharon’s possible pregnancy and in all innocence - just trying to get some of the confusing family relationships around here straight in his head and confirm whether Sharon was Ben’s stepmum - had asked some questions and ended up accidentally revealing that yes, she definitely was pregnant and Callum already knew about it. Linda, it emerged, had not been told. Not directly, anyway.

“I mean,” Linda continued, arms folded, hissing out the words between gritted teeth to Callum as they stood behind the bar of a busy Queen Vic on a Monday evening, “everyone else knows. _Everyone_. It’s all over the Square! Phil told Mick! ‘Someone’ told you, apparently, though you mysteriously can’t remember who! But her best friend? No, absolutely no need for _me_ to know.”

“Mm,” was the best Callum could offer, looking around in desperation. It wasn’t that he wasn’t sympathetic to Linda, but he’d been hearing variations on this theme for seven days now. He was a patient person, but everyone had a limit. With a wave of relief, he spotted Karen waving an empty pint glass at the other end of the bar and nearly knocked Linda over in his rush to serve her.

“Yes, Karen, same again...?”

The thing was, if it wasn’t for what he was beginning to refer to - in his own mind at least - as The Problem of Ben Mitchell, Callum thought he could be really happy here. He loved the Carters; whatever their quirks, it was like being part of a family again, a real one. He was really beginning to settle in to the pub; he knew many of the regulars and got on with them, he could happily chat away with Whitney or Martin or Kush, and he’d met up with Jay for a couple of pints the other day and could definitely see them becoming real friends over time.

But then there was The Problem. After the other night, Ben had gone back to ignoring him. Waking up hungover on the Sunday morning, Callum had remembered the night before and curled back up under the duvet in horrified embarrassment, resolving from that moment to put the whole sorry mess behind him and move on. And if Ben had been just some random one night stand he was never going to see again then Callum could have done that.

The trouble was, Ben was _everywhere_ on this Square. He drank in the pub Callum worked in several times a week. Linda’s best friend was his stepmum and Linda hadn’t stopped talking about her every day for the last week. If Callum wanted to get a hot chocolate from the café, he had to buy it from Ben’s mum. If he went to the local gay bar for a drink, she owned that too. If he went to the local club for a beer instead, that was both haunted by memories of the night he met Ben and was managed by Ben’s cousin.

If he attempted to escape Walford and get the Tube somewhere else, he’d have to walk past the garage that Ben owned. Owned, that is, but not worked in, because he now knew that Ben _actually_ worked on the car lot - the car lot on the corner that you had to walk past to get to the High Street or the closest bus stop into town. 

Callum swore that every single time he stepped out of the Vic now, he ended up clapping eyes on Ben; chatting to customers on the car lot, walking with his little girl through the market, emerging from his back gate just as Callum jogged past on his morning run... If he didn’t know better, he’d begin to think Ben was doing it on purpose.

It was an absolute nightmare. Callum wanted to move on with his life, he did, but it was hard when practically every single person he spoke to reminded him of Ben one way or another. He’d really enjoyed having a pint with Jay, he was a great bloke and they had a mutual love of football; unfortunately, they also had a mutual lo-- _interest in_ Ben Mitchell, as Ben turned out to be not only Jay’s brother-slash-best friend, but also his business partner. His name had cropped up several dozen times in their conversation until Callum could bear it no longer and had made an excuse to leave.

In the interests of moving on, Callum had opened up the hookup app on his phone a few times over the week, scrolling through his notifications and searching for potential matches. Each and every time though he’d closed it back down again without pursuing anything any further.

“You all right, gorgeous?” A voice broke into his thoughts and he blinked at Karen, realising she’d clearly been talking at him for a while as he served her and he hadn’t heard a word of it.

“Er, yeah, sorry, Karen, miles away there.”

“I’d give you a penny for ‘em, luv, but I ain’t got any pennies to spare this week,” she said with a cackle. “Cheers,” she added, taking the pint he handed her and raising it to her lips. “So, as I was saying, it’s this Christening tomorrow for our Candice’s new one...” Her voice trailed off. The whole pub had fallen silent.

Callum looked around in confusion. It was like something out of a Western, a hush falling instantly over the noisy, crowded pub when the local gunslinger walks through the door; but as he looked over to where everyone’s eyes were fixed, he could only see an ordinary-looking, middle-aged man in glasses and a thin teenage boy, neither of whom he recognised. Then, as they shuffled further into the room, he realised they’d entered the pub with Ben and Kathy.

As they came into the pub proper and took seats around an empty table, the man with glasses taking drink orders from the rest of the group, a quiet murmur began to buzz around the room again. 

Karen’s puzzled voice cut through above all of it: “Who’s that, then?”

Callum could have kissed her for asking exactly what he was thinking. His mind had been working double speed in the last minute or so however, and the memory of what Ben had said to him at the Prince Albert about his nephew coming home had popped into his head. What was it Ben had said? ‘The latest problem child’?

A woman Callum didn’t know very well but thought was called Rainie had taken it on herself to comment in a loud voice. “Just your average teen. Killed his sister and put my innocent husband in prison.”

Callum whipped his head around to look at Linda in disbelief, silently asking for confirmation. She exchanged glances with him and shrugged with a sort of ‘well, yes, long story’ expression.

The tension was clearly beginning to build in the bar as Karen made an inappropriate joke, not quite sotto voce, and Linda leaned forward and spoke quietly to the bespectacled man leading the group.

“Ian, just putting it out there, I don’t want any trouble.”

“Trouble?” said Ian, sounding disbelieving.

Kathy got to her feet and repeated the drink order. “An orange juice, a bottle of beer, a vodka and tonic...and whatever Ian’s having.” She was staring Linda down with a look of defiance and Ben quickly stood up to join her.

“Don’t forget the salt and vinegar crisps.”

Callum couldn’t help it, a tiny glow of pride swelled in his chest as he watched Ben. It was ridiculous to feel proud, he had no claim to, but he’d never seen this side of Ben before. He’d seen him drunk, seen him flirty and seductive, seen him angry and sad, even briefly vulnerable and open; but this strong, defiant side, defensive of his family was a new look on him. It looked good. A slight thrill ran up Callum’s back as he watched.

Then Callum’s attention drifted to the teenager still sitting in the booth, hunched in on himself, staring at the table rather than looking at his family and their valiant attempt to stand up for him. He didn’t look like a killer; whatever a killer looked like. The whole pub was silent, watching the drama play out, but oddly it seemed to be the rest of the family they were focused on, not the teenager himself who looked like he would have given anything to disappear between the cushions of the booth.

After what felt like an endless pause, Linda finally got their drink order for them while conversation in the pub began to return to normal levels. Ben glanced in Callum’s direction as he sat back down and held his eyes for just a moment; but his expression was unreadable as he looked away.

Some time later, the family were halfway through their drinks but the tension was still unbearable in the room. Rainie’s comments were continuing, getting louder if anything, other comments had been made, and a few people had got up and left. Linda was clearly on edge, giving nervous looks over at the group as they sat quietly and drank in near silence.

The teenager had almost left once, but Ben had stopped him with a hand on his arm and a firm word that “If you do that...they win.” He hadn’t looked in Callum’s direction once since they had got their drinks, his focus entirely on his young nephew and the hostile regulars.

Callum stood awkwardly behind the bar, unable to take his eyes off the family, but not wanting to be caught staring. Not that he was the only one. He needed something to do to occupy his hands, but hardly anyone was ordering drinks; the whole pub seemed to be locked in this odd state of tension, needing something, anything to break it...

Salvation came in the unlikely form of Rainie’s husband Max strolling over to their table and offering to buy them all a drink. Callum didn’t know the full story, but he’d gathered enough from Rainie’s earlier statement and the reactions around the room to know that this was one hell of an unexpected olive branch he was holding out. Rainie didn’t take too kindly to it.

“Is this a joke?”

“No. No, but I’ll tell you what is a joke. You lot. You think you’re perfect, sitting there in judgement? Right, for your information, Bobby’s already been judged, yeah? He’s been sent down and he’s paid for what he needs to pay for....If I can look over there and see a fifteen year old kid with an orange juice, so can you. So can all of you.”

Max threw down money for the drinks, told them all to have a good night and walked away, leaving the family - and most of the pub - stunned in his wake.

“Where did that come from?”

“Did that really just happen?”

“Max the hero,” drawled Ben. He clapped a hand on his nephew’s shoulder. “Told you it’ll be all right, Bobby--”

Bobby leapt to his feet as though he’d been stung, pulling away from the touch. Callum watched him with concern, unable not to feel sympathy for him. Max was right. Whatever he’d done, he’d served his time for it. No kid that young deserved to be sat in the spotlight of attention like that, the focus of everyone’s silent judgement.

“I-I need some air. I’ll see you at the house,” said the teenager and he escaped out of the side door of the pub as his family exchanged glances.

The pub, which had been deathly quiet throughout Max’s speech, erupted into a frenzied buzz of conversation as Bobby left. Rainie turned back to the bar, jaw clenched.

Karen raised her eyebrows. “Well. Max can say what he likes, not sure I feel comfortable drinking in the same pub as the kid...”

“Yeah,” said Rainie, still with a face of fury. “I’m telling you, there’s something not right about that family. I ain’t letting my Abi spend time in that house of killers. I mean, there’s two people over there what killed someone before they were even sixteen, you can’t tell me that’s normal, can you?”

Callum hadn’t meant to listen to the conversation, but he was trapped at that end of the bar, sorting out change for the customer he was serving. The coins slipped out of his fingers in his confusion.

He hastily gathered up the change and handed it over, then shifted back towards the group where Mitch, Karen’s companion, was wearily asking them all to _please_ change the subject.

“What was that?” Callum asked, trying to sound as casual as he could. “About killers?”

Rainie glanced at him, but didn’t seem to find the question odd, looking pleased to have the chance to tell the story. “Well, you know about Ben, don’t you? Ben Mitchell? Murdered Shirley’s best friend. I mean, he went down for manslaughter rather than murder so he weren’t in prison for more than a coupla years, but he killed her, we all know it. Bludgeoned her to death in her own home. Not even his first time inside neither, got done for GBH when he was just a kid. Now his nephew’s a chip off the old block, even younger when he did his sister in.”

“Right,” said Callum. It was all he could say. He felt a little like he’d been whacked over the head himself, like the familiar boards of the pub floor beneath him had turned to sand and were shifting underneath his feet. “Are you all right for drinks by the way?” They all indicated that they were. “Are you sure? Okay, I’ll just go and...” He gestured behind him and fled.

Escaping out the back, he collapsed on to the stairs, holding on to the banister and attempted to get some air into his lungs. Staring at nothing, he concentrated on breathing in and out over the thudding in his ears until the panic died down a little and he was able to think clearly again.

First, he needed to consider the source, didn’t he? Rainie didn’t seem to have a very high opinion of the family. Even if it was true, she was going to put the worst possible interpretation on it.

If it _was_ true...

Why hadn’t Shirley told him? Or Mick, or Tina, any of the Carters?

Callum shifted on the stairs, loosening his grip on the wooden banister as he realised how tightly he was gripping it, and thought of Stuart. He’d not visited or written to Stuart in so long, out of hurt and fear after the last, terrible conversation they’d had, when he’d worked up his courage to tell Stuart he was gay and he’d reacted so badly. But was that fair? Callum hadn’t exactly given his brother long to get his head around it. He’d gone in there expecting the worst, and when Stuart had lived down to every expectation of him, Callum had stormed out without a word.

He didn’t blame Stuart for what he’d done, the GBH charge. He didn’t really understand it, but he could forgive it; he’d forgiven his brother long before the trial, and had promised to visit him regularly while he was inside. He was so messed up, but so was Callum in many ways - they were both messed up by their dad, by their mum for leaving, by their whole sorry lives.

Callum stared blankly at the wall and thought again about what Rainie had said. Ben had been in prison twice while he was still just a kid. Had killed someone before he was _sixteen_. A wave of sadness and compassion swept over him. What on earth could have gone so wrong in someone’s life, what the hell could they have been through to create that much violence and chaos in their life before they’d barely started shaving?

Callum supposed at this point he should be congratulating himself on a lucky escape. But when he remembered the Ben who had fetched beer and crisps for him that night they had spent together; had taken care of him after learning about Chris, asked him what he wanted, concentrated on _his_ pleasure and needs instead of just his own; the Ben who had laughed and joked and told funny stories with his friends in the bar of the Albert and looked so angry and sad as he talked about his father on the balcony; the Ben from twenty minutes earlier, standing up to defend his nephew in front of a hostile crowd...you pictured _that_ Ben in your mind and then you attempted to slap a label of ‘violent ruthless killer’ on top of it and he just couldn’t make it fit. Even if what Rainie had said was true, everything in Callum’s gut said there was more to this story.

Wasn’t there always? The headline never told the full story. He and Stuart knew that better than most.

“Halfway?” He jumped as Linda appeared at the bottom of the stairs. “What are you doing? I’m on my own out here!”

“Sorry, Linda, I’m just coming.” Callum pulled himself to his feet and dragged himself back into the bar.

Ben and the rest of his family had all gone and the pub was back to normal, if still buzzing from everything that had happened. Callum dealt with the slight queue that had built up while he was out the back; but as soon as there was a lull and he had a moment or two of quiet, he ducked to one side and pulled his phone out of his pocket.

Pausing only for a second with his finger hovering over the screen, he quickly tapped out a message and sent it before he could change his mind.

_‘Hope your nephew is okay. Callum’_

He shoved the phone back into his pocket, not really expecting a reply, and went back to serving customers; but it was only a minute or two before he felt it vibrate in his back pocket as the reply came through.

_‘thanks. he’ll get there. Ben’_

Callum smiled to himself, cheered more than he maybe should be by how quickly the reply had appeared. Then his smile widened further as the phone in his hand buzzed again before he could even decide whether to respond.

_‘told you it’s like a village round here. witches of walford fill you in on all the gossip?’_

Callum wondered if Ben had overheard what Rainie had said to him; but either way, he was reaching out, and that had to be a good thing, didn’t it? After a moment’s hesitation, he replied;

_‘Can’t be easy for him, coming back home after everything.’_

The reply was almost instant this time.

_‘you can say that again. this place can be a headfuck for the best of us.’_

“Halfway!” Callum looked up from his phone to find Linda was hissing at him and indicating he was needed with a jerk of her head. He tucked his phone away and went to serve Denise at the other end of the bar.

Then his back pocket buzzed twice more in succession and he couldn’t stop grinning as he reached for a bottle of wine and began to pour.

* * *

By the following weekend, they’ve established something of a casual text friendship.

Callum was under no illusions about it. He hadn’t suggested meeting up, and he was in no expectation that Ben would do so any time soon either. He didn’t know what he was hoping for from Ben exactly, but he did know his heart still did a little flutter every time he got a new text - even though they were never anything particularly exciting or meaningful, mainly terrible jokes or complaints about being ignored if Callum didn’t reply for a day or so - and that was good enough for him for the time being.

Saturday morning, Callum got up early and did some prep in the kitchen before going for a lengthy jog. He’d be working a long shift today after having most of the previous weekend off, but that was fine with him; after weeks of nitpicking and correcting everything he did, Linda was finally letting him have more of a free hand in menu planning and he already had several ideas he was bursting to try out.

As he looped his way back through the park in the direction of the Square, he was brought up short by the sight of a very familiar figure. Three very familiar figures, in fact, standing by the kiosk. It looked like the small, blonde one was badgering the other two for an ice cream. Callum froze for a moment, his legs no longer under his own control as he risked bumping into a jogger running in the opposite direction towards him. Should he try and run past, pretending he hadn’t seen them?

But it was too late, Lola had already spotted him and was waving a lazy hand.

“Callum!”

He plastered a smile on his face and jogged over. “Hi!” He smiled at Lola, gave an extra big smile to Lexi, and nodded in a friendly but casual manner at Ben, wishing he looked a little less sweaty and dishevelled from his run, then ashamed of himself for wishing it.

Ben nodded back. His face hadn’t exactly lit up in joy, but he wasn’t looking actively displeased to see Callum either.

Lexi was staring at him with the direct and open suspicion of a seven-year-old. “Who are you?”

They all laughed and it seemed to relieve the tension a bit.

“This is Callum, Lex,” said Lola. “He’s a friend of ours.”

Lexi beamed, this seemed to be sufficient. “Do you want an ice cream, Callum? We’re having ice creams.”

“Oh, right, are we?” said Lola, eyebrows raised. “Well, apparently that’s already been decided then, we’re having ice creams. You want one, Callum?”

“Oh, uh, no, thanks,” he said, flustered. He gestured down at his sweaty t-shirt. “I’m thirsty after my run, I need to get back--”

“Water it is then.”

“Oh no, I didn’t mean--” he began, but she ignored him, holding out her hand to her daughter.

“You gonna come help me choose?”

They went to the kiosk together, leaving Callum stood alone with a silent Ben, feeling beyond awkward.

“I didn’t mean her to...I really _do_ have to get back, I start work in a bit...”

“I’d just take the drink and say thanks, Callum,” said Ben drily. “It’ll be easier.”

Callum nodded. Then, fearing the thought of the silence stretching out in front of them, blurted out, “How’s your week been?”

It was very possibly the wrong thing to say, as Ben’s mouth twisted oddly and he laughed. “Complicated.”

They were rescued by Lola and Lexi reappearing with ice creams, handing a cone to Ben and a bottle of water to Callum, Lola waving away his thank yous. As she did so, Callum got to experience first-hand the wonder of Ben’s total transformation from closed-off, sarky git to soft, doting Dad. He’d seen glimpses of it before, but not the actual flipping from one state to another; it was something to behold, as Ben dropped to his knees and exclaimed in mock horror,

“ _Two_ scoops?! Look at the size of that! It’s bigger than your head! Only one thing for it, you’ll have to give yours to me. No way can you eat all of that without being sick.”

“Can too!”

“Not a chance.”

“I can too! Bet you I can eat all of mine faster than you can eat yours.”

“Oh, you think so, do you? Right, you’re on. Fiver for the winner, first one to be sick forfeits.”

“Ben!” snapped Lola, but she was smiling despite herself as she caught Callum’s eye. “Lexi, come with me over to the playground, and eat that slowly or you really _will_ be sick and I ain’t cleaning it up if you are, your dad can do that. And you” - this was addressed to Ben - “can stay here.” She gave him a pointed look and indicated Callum with a flash of her eyes before taking Lexi’s hand and leading her away.

Ben looked slightly sheepish and rolled his eyes at Callum. “Subtle as a brick, ain’t she?” He led the way over to a nearby picnic table and swung his leg over the bench on one side. Callum sat down opposite him, glancing down at his reflection in the nearby pond and wincing again at how messed up his hair was.

They sat in silence for a moment, Callum gulping down some of the water with relief - the summer heat was becoming unbearable as the morning wore on - and Ben earnestly licking a stripe around the side of his ice cream cone before it melted. He caught Callum staring and winked.

Callum laughed, looking down at his hands. “Look...I’m sorry. About the other night. I got the wrong end of the stick, won’t happen again.”

“Nah,” said Ben, looking off into the distance. “My fault. I got pretty bladdered that night. No idea half the stuff I was rabbiting on about, but I think I maybe said some stuff I shouldn’t have done to you.” He finally turned his gaze back on Callum to meet his eyes. “I’m sorry. And you didn’t. Get it wrong.”

“No?” said Callum softly, not daring to hope.

“Nah, I’ll snog anyone when I’m that drunk. Well, anyone tall with a decent bit of stubble, anyway.” He was grinning widely now, lightening the mood, and Callum tried to smile back in kind.

“Shame you never met my Great-Aunt Gladys then...”

“She sounds like a catch.”

They both laughed even though it was hardly that funny, and Callum accepted it for what it was, a truce or maybe a fresh start. Silence fell over them again as Ben attacked the rest of his ice cream and Callum tried to think how to say what he wanted to say. He could see Lola and Lexi in the playground; Lola trying and failing to pretend she wasn’t watching them.

Eventually, he gathered his courage to speak up. “Look, I’d really like it if we could be mates.”

“Mates,” Ben repeated, nodding thoughtfully. He threw the last part of his ice cream cone into his mouth and crunched it slowly as he stared at the seat of the picnic bench.

“It’s hard starting again, you know?” said Callum, feeling the need to explain himself, even if it means Ben would laugh at him - though his gut was telling him that Ben wouldn’t do that, not over this. “After everything... I’ve lost touch with people I knew years back before I was in the Army, and I love the Carters but it’s not really the same thing, is it? And most of the people I know in London were Chris’s mates, not mine. It’s a bit...awkward. So it’s been good getting to know people here. Jay’s a laugh,” he added.

Ben glanced up. “What, _my_ Jay? Jay Brown? My god, you have been starved of decent company if you think _Jay’s_ a laugh, dear oh dear...”

“Well, yeah,” said Callum, laughing. “That’s what I’m saying. Look, I ain’t...expecting anything from you, Ben. I’m not sure I woulda bin in the right place to start anything with anyone right now even if you’d wanted to, which I know you don’t. But if you ever wanted ta grab a pint sometime as mates, I’d be up for that. It’s nice to talk to someone who gets it sometimes, ya know?”

Ben swallowed. “Yeah. I know.”

“I don’t have a lot of gay friends,” Callum confessed. He wasn’t quite sure why he felt the need for Ben to know all this, but it was something he hadn’t really ever spoken to anyone about before. The words were spilling out of him without his brain doing much in the way of intervening. “I had a bit of a weird coming out, by a lot of people’s standards, probably. I didn’t really realise I was gay until I met Chris.”

That got his attention. “You what?” said Ben, not quite laughing, but sounding as if he was stopping himself with some difficulty. He swung his other leg over the bench so that he was now facing Callum head on, looking carefully at him.

Callum flushed. “That’s not how it sounds. I mean, yeah, course I always knew on some level. Deep down. I just...I didn’t think about it too much. It was like it was never even an option, you know? I didn’t _let_ myself think about it. I think I avoided the subject in my own head and kind of hoped it would all work out some day, that I’d meet the right girl and it would click.”

“But instead you met Chris,” said Ben, probing.

“Yeah,” said Callum. It was a story he could tell by heart. “We cooked together in the Army. Just the two of us in one kitchen, when we first met. I didn’t know what it was I was feeling at first, ya know? I just knew I wanted to be near him all the time. And then one night it all...just fell into place. Sorry, I’m sure you don’t want to hear all this...”

“I don’t mind.” And he didn’t look like he did mind. His voice had softened and he was listening patiently.

“Anyway, Chris was out already and had been round the block a bit, ya know. He kept it ta himself when he was serving though, it’s just easier sometimes in the Army, though I know it shouldn’t be. I swear I had no idea until that night. So before I’d even really had a chance to work out who I was and come to terms with all of that, I was already straight into this super intense relationship. Which I wouldn’t change for a second,” he added hastily, suddenly feeling he could be giving the wrong impression, sounding almost disloyal. He would give _anything_ for another one of those lost moments with Chris. “Not one single second. But...I do sometimes feel I’ve done things a bit backwards. 

“Like, it’s Pride next week. I’ve never been.”

Ben looked genuinely surprised, leaning forward across the picnic table. “What, never?”

Callum shrugged. “I’ve only been out a few years, and I was nearly always on service overseas during Pride, and then last year...I wasn’t really in the right headspace for it.” To put it mildly. Crushed under a suffocating blanket of grief and despair that pressed on his lungs every morning he woke up and stopped him from breathing would have been a more accurate description. “Can’t really see myself going this year either.”

“Oh, come on,” said Ben, head on one side. “You’ve got to go once at least. What’s stopping you?”

“Not got anyone to go with to be honest,” Callum said, wishing it didn’t sound quite as pathetic as it did. “Don’t really fancy going on my own, and like I said, not really got any gay friends.” It wasn’t strictly true. There were a few of Chris’s old mates he could have reached out to on social media, found out if they were going and tagged along with them, but it felt awkward for a whole host of reasons he didn’t really want to get into right now.

Ben watched him for a moment, fingers drumming on the side of the wooden bench. Then he seemed to reach a decision and his face softened into a genuine smile. Not for the first time, Callum reflected on how it changed his face, making him look so much younger than the cynical smirk he wore more often.

“All right, all right, no need to beg,” said Ben, still smiling. “You and me, then, next week. We’ll go into town, see the parade, hit some bars, do the whole thing properly, okay?”

“Oh, no,” said Callum, embarrassed. “I wasn’t trying to--”

“Yeah, you were.”

Callum smiled back, ducking his head down. Maybe he had been hoping on some level that Ben would offer, why else had he brought it up?

“I’ve got some ground rules, though,” said Ben, and Callum frowned at him, unable to quite work out how serious he was being. “Number one, I don’t do dressing up, I don’t do rainbows and glitter, I don’t do fetish wear or leather, all of that stuff. Nothing wrong with any of it, each to their own, you want to try it out then good for you, but if you’re thinking of coming at me with face paints or a feather boa you can do one.”

“Right, I’ll remember that,” said Callum with a laugh. “What’s the second one?”

“Second, if either of us pulls, the other one makes their own way home. It’s _Pride_ , Callum, it’s wall to wall half-naked totty lining the streets like an all-you-can-eat buffet.”

Callum groaned out loud. “Well, that’s a lovely image.”

“Come on, you’re gonna love it. I’ll be your wingman, see what we can find to tickle your fancy.” Ben was still smiling as he held out a hand across the picnic table between them. “We got a deal?”

Callum looked at him, trying to see if the smile was reaching his eyes or not. Or was he just deluding himself, convincing himself that maybe Ben wasn’t quite as okay with playing this role as he was claiming to be?

He fancied Ben. A lot. Even being out in the open air with him like this, in the most unsexy of surroundings with his daughter playing a few metres away, was sending shivers up his spine and making him feel like he’d probably need a cold shower when he got home. He’d had a taste and he wanted more. But worse than that, he _liked_ Ben. He was intrigued by him, wanted to spend time with him, get to know who he was and what made him tick. But Ben wasn’t interested in anything more, couldn’t have made that fact any clearer over and over again.

Probably becoming friends, getting to know each other, would be the best thing for both of them. The mystery of the man was no doubt what was so exciting about him; if Callum spent time with Ben casually as mates, found out what an ordinary person he probably was behind the mysterious front he put up, Callum’s little crush would surely die away and he’d be able to put it all behind him.

All this raced through Callum’s head in a flash, and he hesitated for only the briefest moment before reaching out and shaking Ben’s hand. “Deal.”

They grinned at each other, and Callum did his best to ignore the way his heart beat a little faster and his skin tingled at the touch of Ben’s hand.

“Speaking of,” Ben added, “did you ever update your profile like I told you to?”

“Uh, yeah,” admitted Callum, suspecting his cheeks were flaming bright red again. “I changed the pic anyway, added a few more details.”

“Any interest?”

“A few. I haven’t really had time to do much about it, ya know. New job and all that...”

“You should,” said Ben quietly. He seemed to be struggling to maintain eye contact again, his eyes sliding over to focus somewhere past Callum’s left earlobe. “Life’s short. You and I both know _that_. Enjoy yourself while you can, yeah?”

“Is that what you’re doing?” asked Callum, surprising himself. He didn’t know where the question had come from. “Enjoying life?”

“Oh, every second.”

They locked eyes for a moment and the air around them seemed to still.

Then a whirlwind of blonde hair came barrelling up, her mother chasing behind her, and climbed up on to the bench next to her father.

“Finished all my ice cream, Daddy! And I wasn’t sick!”

“Yeah?” That genuine, soft smile was back as he greeted her, and again Callum couldn’t help but stare. At the back of his mind throughout this conversation, as it had been all week, were Rainie’s words about Ben’s history; but he’d already pretty much decided he was never going to ask Ben about it. Whatever he’d done in the past, this man sitting here today with his daughter was the man Callum was interested in getting to know better. “Me too! So I guess neither of us won our bet, huh?”

Lexi was indignant. “Uh, that wasn’t the bet, Daddy.”

“No?” he said, mock innocent. “Okay, I suppose we might be able to find something to put in your piggy bank when we get home then, how about that?”

This appeared to be acceptable and she leaned in for a hug while he kissed the top of her head. Aware he was staring at them with a lump in his throat, Callum pulled himself together enough to get to his feet.

“I’d better get going, I need to get back to the Vic--”

“Ooh, before you do,” said Ben, with a glint in his eye, “Lex, do you know what Callum here said to me?”

All the blood in Callum’s veins seemed to freeze in absolute horror as he frantically re-ran their conversation in his head, trying to think which part Ben could be referring to, but Ben had continued talking in the meantime.

“He told me that he thinks your Uncle Jay is a ‘bit of a laugh’. Now, there’s no accounting for taste, obviously, but that means he’s got two fans at least now, eh Mummy?” Ben glanced up at Lola with a sly smile while Callum hovered, suspecting that this conversation was no longer about him but unsure how to leave.

“Yes, all right, Ben,” snapped Lola, sitting down on the bench Callum had just vacated. “Give it a rest.”

“I’m just saying, you still ain’t on that coach to Newcastle...”

“Don’t push it, Ben. I can still buy two new tickets.” She didn’t look quite as angry as her words sounded though, and her face softened further when she looked up at Callum. “Ignore him. You get off, we’ll maybe see you in the Vic later, yeah?”

“Um, yeah.” Callum clutched his water bottle in relief and gave an awkward wave of farewell. “Thanks again for the drink.”

“Callum!” He heard Ben’s voice calling him as he was a few paces away from the group, and turned back to see him indicating his phone. “I’ll text you, yeah? Pride. Get your glad rags on.”

He waved back and gave a thumbs up before turning in the direction of home and breaking into a jog, a broad smile on his face.

A shower and a change of clothes later, Callum was back in the kitchen of the Vic, feeling restless as he finished preparing for the lunchtime trade and started on making batch meals for the freezer. The kitchen was cool compared to the relentless summer heat outside, but he was still feeling warm and on edge. The conversation with Ben had helped clear his head in a lot of ways and left him feeling calmer about how to cope with the Problem of Ben Mitchell going forward; but it had also left him worked up in other ways that the cold shower had done absolutely nothing to help with.

It felt as if his phone was burning a hole in his back pocket. Taking a break as he put a freshly made batch of pastry dough in the fridge, he leaned against the cool tiles of the kitchen wall and retrieved his phone. There was nothing from Ben, but he didn’t expect there to be after only a couple of hours; he probably wouldn’t hear from him until later in the week, making arrangements to meet up on Saturday for Pride.

There were a couple of notifications from the hookup app though, of men who’d shown interest, dancing at the top of his screen. He usually cleared them without looking, but today...

Taking a deep breath, he swiped through the profiles that came up, pausing on a StratfordSte91. Light-coloured eyes, short brown hair, nice bit of stubble and a cheeky smile... His stomach flipped. 

He was young, free and single. And he was never going to get over this crush he had on Ben by sitting around at home on his own pining for him like a lovesick teenager, was he?

Why not?

Glancing around the kitchen as though Shirley or Linda might have crept in to ambush him and peer at his phone screen while he was distracted, he took another breath before swiping the screen and tapping out a short message with slightly shaky fingers.

Ten minutes later, browning his mince, his phone buzzed. The pan almost went flying in his haste to snatch it up from where he’d left it on the worktop, his heart hammering as he confirmed it was a reply and not a 2-for-1 offer on pizza or a message from his provider than he’d gone over his data limit.

_‘free tonight, where do you want to meet?’_


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's left kudos and comments! Really happy people seem to be enjoying this weird and very wordy story.
> 
> Sorry updates are a bit slow at the moment; real life has been a bit busy recently now we're coming out of lockdown, and this chapter was a bit of a nightmare to write for some reason.

**Saturday 6 July 2019**

Callum hesitated outside the back door of number 45, nerves jangling. His text from Ben the previous day had said to knock on the kitchen door as ‘ _no one uses the front_ ’, but it didn’t seem very polite.

He was a few minutes early, having forgotten just how little time it took to cross from the front door of the Vic to the back door of Ben’s house, and for a brief, panicky moment he considered turning around and going back to change his clothes again. He’d already changed from a plain T-shirt to a coloured T-shirt to a long-sleeved shirt to a short-sleeved shirt and back to a plain T-shirt again twice over this morning, after a casual comment from a hurrying Tina on her way out of the door that “I thought you were going into town for Pride, Halfway? You not getting changed?”

Eventually, he’d made it out of the door in a plain white T-shirt, bomber jacket and blue jeans, but it had only taken him the few strides across Bridge Street for him to start worrying that he’d made the wrong choice. It wasn’t lost on him that he was possibly fixating on the clothes thing as displacement for all the other things he could be worrying about.

He took a deep breath and wished like hell that Chris was here with him, holding his hand and beaming at him and making stupid jokes until they were both breathless with laughter. Then he put thoughts of Chris to one side, rearranged his face into a smile, and knocked on the door.

A voice called from inside. “It’s open!”

He dithered for a moment on the doorstep, feeling hesitant, before pushing the door open and entering. A slightly chaotic scene greeted him as he edged his way into the dining room; dirty plates and remains of breakfast were piled up in the kitchen and on the dining table, and Kathy had her mobile to her ear as she scribbled something on a notepad with her other hand. She smiled distractedly at Callum as he entered and mouthed ‘Sorry, two secs...’

The room’s other occupant, a sullen looking Bobby, didn’t acknowledge Callum at all beyond a quick glance. It was the first time Callum had seen him since the stand off in the pub the other week, and Callum didn’t quite know what to say, settling for a nod and a smile instead, standing there in awkward silence.

Kathy eventually hung up the phone with an exasperated grunt. “Sorry, Callum luv, I’m having one of those mornings. Ben’ll be down in a sec, he’s just making himself look pretty.” She smiled widely at him, looking genuinely pleased to see him, and Callum couldn’t help smiling back.

“It’s all right, I think I’m early.”

She raised her eyebrows at that. “Well, the more time you spend with my son the better then, hopefully some of that might rub off on him! I don’t think he’s ever been early to anything in his life.” She took a seat at the table and Callum did likewise. “So what are your plans for today, then? I didn’t get much out of Ben.”

“Uh, not sure, really. I think we’re going to go along to the parade to start with, then see how it goes...”

“I’m going to my room,” said Bobby, his voice cutting unexpectedly across them as he got to his feet, snatching up his plate and taking it with him.

Kathy looked taken aback. “Oh, right. Well, call me if you need anything, luv? Bobby, are you sure you can’t help me out for an hour or two this morning...?” Her voice trailed away in vain as the boy vanished up the stairs and she shrugged awkwardly at Callum. “Teenagers. What can you do?”

Callum smiled, not sure what to say, and stared at his hands for a moment as they rested between his knees. But the need to say something and fill an awkward silence was never far from his throat, and besides, he liked Kathy. She knew all of her customers by name and always had a warm smile for him when he ordered in the café, how could anyone not like her? She looked on edge right now and he couldn’t stop himself from trying to blurt out some words of comfort.

“I’m sure...he’ll get there. I know it’s not the same thing - at _all_ \- but when I came out the army, it took me months to get used to it. Like, the change in routine? I’m not sure I’m used to it even now, to be honest. And everything kind of weighed on me so much more because of it, ya know? All this bad stuff in my head, and I went from havin’ a routine, and people around me, to being at home all day on my own with nothing else to think about...Anyway,” he added with a cough, realising he was rambling and noticing how Kathy was looking at him with surprise. “I can’t even begin to imagine what Bobby’s going through, but I’m sure it’s just gonna take time. None of my business, really.”

“No, that’s okay,” she said, still looking at him with a thoughtful expression. “I don’t suppose...maybe you could have a chat with him one day?”

“Oh, no, I’m not sure I’m the best person--"

“Please?” said Kathy. She reached out a hand towards him, smiling softly. “I don’t think he wants to talk to his boring old nan, but maybe someone outside the family...”

“Um...” Callum shrugged, feeling trapped. He didn’t know what use he would be to a troubled teenager if his family weren’t able to get through to him, but he didn’t really feel he could refuse. “I suppose so?”

He was rescued at that moment by a heavy thud of footsteps on the stairs, followed by Ben bursting into the dining room in a flurry of energy.

“Mornin’!” He frowned at Callum. “You’re early. What were you two talking about?”

Callum glanced at his watch, but refrained from mentioning it was now a good ten minutes after the time they’d agreed to meet. Ben looked good, he realised, inwardly sighing at himself for the way his stomach flipped at the sight. He was relieved to see that he’d judged his clothes about right, Ben dressed very similarly to himself - black jeans, tight polo-shirt, denim jacket.

“You, of course, what else would be we talking about?” said Kathy dryly. “I was just about to get out the baby photos.”

“Mm, you’re funny,” said Ben, glaring at her. “You ready to go?” This was addressed to Callum, who almost knocked over his chair as he hastily scrambled to his feet.

“Yeah, let’s go.”

“Bye, mum,” called Ben in a mocking, sing-song voice as they headed for the door, and she made a face at him.

“Have a good day,” she sang back, mimicking his tone, then her face softened as she turned to Callum. “Nice to see you Callum, hope you enjoy yourself.”

It was a warm but windy day as they turned right out of the back gate and made their way down Bridge Street, through the busy market in the direction of the Tube station. They walked side by side for a while, neither speaking as they weaved their way past the market stalls, Callum feeling a bit weird, very aware of Ben’s presence next to him. This wasn’t a date, he knew that, but he felt as keyed up as if it was. It didn’t have the relaxed, casual feeling of two mates hanging out together.

As if he knew what Callum was thinking, Ben glanced over to him as they rounded the corner into Turpin Road.

“You all right?” said Ben, with a hint of amusement. “You look nervous. This is meant to be fun, yeah?”

Callum laughed then mentally kicked himself, aware that the laugh gave away how nervous he really was more than anything else. He was excited too, of course he was. How could he not be? He’d been thinking about going to Pride for years, been anticipating the day when he’d be there, in the thick of it, celebrating and belonging with his community. But now that the day was actually here, the truth was he was bricking it. Not because of Ben and how he felt about him - though that didn’t help - but because of a whole bunch of stuff he really didn’t want to admit to right now.

He wasn’t great with crowds these days for one thing. He’d been avoiding noisy, crowded places ever since Chris’s death, and was now about to go and throw himself into what was possibly one of the noisiest, most overwhelming, crowded events of them all. And he _really_ didn’t want to admit this bit to Ben, but he wasn’t actually all that good at standing for long periods either any more, not with his leg injury. If he could keep walking and moving around, and then sit down when he needed to, like he did in his shifts at the Vic, then he was absolutely fine; but if he was going to have to stand in one place for significant stretches of time, like whilst watching a parade for instance, there was a very good chance his leg would give way beneath him.

More than either of these though, he was ultimately nervous because he didn’t quite know what to expect or what he was letting himself in for. He’d seen glimpses of London Pride over the years, brief snatches on the news, but knew it would probably be something else altogether to be right in the thick of it, acting like he belonged there with everyone else.

How could he explain any of that to Ben though, sauntering along in the July sunshine all effortless confidence, looking like he didn’t have a care in the world? Not when it came to this sort of thing anyway, whatever other cares he might have...

“Nah, I’m fine,” said Callum eventually. “Just not really sure what to expect.”

Ben flashed him a smile. “Well, stick with me, newbie, I’ll look after ya.”

“Well, until some fit bloke turns up,” said Callum with a laugh. Ben raised a puzzled eyebrow. “Isn’t that what you said the other day? If you pull, I’m making my own way home?”

“I’ll think you’ll find I said if _either_ of us pulls the other makes their own way home. Just as likely to be you as me, mate.” Callum scoffed at that, shaking his head, and Ben gave him an odd look. “Anyway, we’ve got a long day ahead. I’m not gonna abandon ya right at the start, am I? What do you take me for?”

Callum grinned. “Do you really want me to answer that?”

They were passing the Prince Albert now, where rainbow flags and bunting festooned every building around them and Tina was directing operations as a DJ set up sound equipment on a makeshift stage outside the bar. She gave Callum a warm but distracted smile as he waved an arm in greeting.

Ben’s footsteps slowed before he turned and paused, looking Callum in the eye. “What was that about?”

“What?”

“That face, before. When I said you were as likely to pull as me.”

“Oh, well, you know.” Callum huffed out a laugh, embarrassed, very much not wanting to discuss this. He turned back towards the direction of the station and made as if to keep walking, but Ben stopped him with an outstretched arm.

“No, hang on a minute. Cos you did a bit of this whole self-deprecating thing before too, that first night when we hooked up, and I thought it was maybe just for my benefit but...you do _get_ that you’re a catch, right?” Ben was looking at him intently, peering up at him with intense blue eyes framed by thick eyelashes, and Callum found himself going bright red to the tips of his ears under the scrutiny.

“Yeah, okay.” He tried to laugh it off, but Ben’s hand was still on his arm and Ben’s eyes were still fixed on his face.

“I’m serious. I don’t do compliments as a rule, mate, not my thing, but if you honestly don’t know how fit you are then someone needs to tell ya. Tell you what, we’ll hit a coupla bars I know later on and I’ll prove it to ya. I’m telling you, mate, they’ll be queuing up for a taste--”

“Yes, all right, Ben,” snapped Callum, much sharper than he’d meant to. “I’m not a kid. What am I, some kind of project to you?” Then he winced, instantly regretting his outburst as he always did. He was getting a little sick of Ben’s patronising attitude - he may not have spent his adult life sleeping his way through the gay population of East London, but that didn’t make him a child who didn’t know anything, he was still a grown man - but he still shouldn’t have snapped like that.

“Sorry,” he said. But Ben didn’t look bothered; on the contrary, his mouth had quirked up at the corners and he looked as though he was suppressing a grin.

“Not a problem.”

They turned back towards the Underground Station and began walking again, the mood feeling slightly more relaxed than it had been before, as though the little scuffle had cleared the air.

“Anyway,” said Callum, clearing his throat, “I’m not sure about meeting blokes in bars, I’ve never been any good at that sort of thing. I get a bit...tongue-tied, come out with stupid things.”

“You? Never,” said Ben with a sideways smile.

“But I did take your advice the other day.”

“Advice?” Callum glanced across, but Ben did seem to be genuinely puzzled.

“Yeah, what you said in the park, about getting out there and having some fun. You were right - no point me updating my profile and not doing anything about it, is there? So I met up with someone the other night.”

“Right,” said Ben. Callum watched him out of the corner of his eye. He hadn’t really reacted very strongly one way or the other, but a muscle appeared to be twitching in his jaw if you looked closer. “Well, good for you. You gonna see him again?”

Callum shrugged. “Shouldn’t think so.”

It had been...fine? He had no regrets. In a perverse way, that would almost make it easier, if it had been horrible and left him feeling sordid and sleazy and full of regret. Then he could have made a definite decision to delete the app from his phone and never do it again. But the guy had been nice actually, and they’d had a drink together first, and they’d got each other off in a mutually pleasurable way, and he’d enjoyed himself. Afterwards Ste had offered him to stay the night if he’d wanted but Callum had made an excuse and caught the last Tube home.

He hadn’t really felt...anything, to be honest. Not disgust with himself, which part of him was worried he might do, but not great joy or pleasure either. No fireworks. It had been a bit like a business transaction in the end. Everyone got what they wanted out of it and went on their way. Absolutely nothing wrong with that, but he was beginning to get the horrible feeling that deep down at heart, Callum Highway might be a bit of an old romantic, wanting something more.

Ben nodded. “Well, who knows?” he said. They’d reached the entrance to the Tube station, and had both paused to extract Oyster cards from various pockets. “Maybe you’ll find what you’re looking for today. That’s the thing about Pride, the whole wonderful variety of our community in all its glory will be there.”

Callum laughed and smiled and tried to not to betray the fact that this terrified him as much as it excited him.

A ringing noise began to emanate from somewhere in Ben’s direction as they made their way through the ticket barriers and up the stairs. He extracted his phone with some difficulty from his overly tight jeans and answered it.

“Mum? Yeah, just at the station. No, I told you, not today. Yeah, I know it’s Pride, Mum, that’s why I said no! Not a chance! Can’t Bobby help out...? Well, sorry, it’s too late, you’ll just have to manage.”

“Everything all right?” asked Callum quietly as he followed Ben up the stairs and on to the platform.

“Absolutely fine,” said Ben, with a tone that wasn’t inviting any further questions.

They found a space on the busy platform to wait for the Overground train. The Westbound platform was packed; mainly Saturday shoppers, heading into town, but Callum could see a few people who looked as though they had the same destination as Ben and himself, ranging from full-on glitter, feathers and rainbow flags draped around their necks to people dressed in ordinary clothes with just a discreet pin or tote bag proclaiming themselves to the world. There was what looked like a family group farther down the platform; two middle-aged women with three kids. The youngest was about seven or eight and was clearly excited beyond belief, rainbows painted on her cheeks and wearing a sparkly dress that spun out around her as she raced up and down the platform. Callum smiled and waved at her as she barrelled past and she stopped to wave back, face beaming.

Ben glanced at him and grinned.

“Would you ever bring Lexi?” Callum asked, then wondered if it was a stupid question, if Ben really did only view Pride as an excuse to pull fit blokes or if he was just saying that for Callum’s benefit. He still found the younger man hard to read; every time he felt like he was getting better at it, it was like another wall would go up and he’d have to start all over again.

“Maybe. Though I suspect she’d enjoy the experience more than I would--” Ben broke off with a frown, and after a second Callum realised it was because his own phone was ringing.

He fished it out and blinked in surprise at the name on the screen before swiping up to answer. “Tina?”

“Halfway, I am so, so sorry to do this to you!” He could hear the desperation in her voice, even in its tinny form coming out of the phone speakers. “I know you had plans today for Pride, I saw you heading for the Tube, but we’re desperate...is there any chance you could do a shift for me at the Albert? We’re a barboy down and we were already pushing it for staff as it was, we’re expecting a big crowd today.”

“I don’t know, Teen,” he said slowly, aware of Ben’s eyes on him.

“Please?” she begged. “I’ll do anything. I’ll cover any shift you like at the Vic, any time you want. I’ll do all your chores for you upstairs for a month.”

“I’m sorry, but--”

“Two months. _Three_ months... I’m so desperate, Callum, we can’t find anyone else.”

He sighed, knowing there was no way he was going to be able to say no to this. “All right, all right! There’s always next year.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you! I am so sorry about this. Just get here as soon as you can. And look, I’ll pay you time and a half, how about that?”

“You’d better,” he said with a laugh. “I’ll see you in a bit.” He hung up, then slid his eyes over to Ben.

“So--" he began, but Ben interrupted before he could start.

“No.”

“Ben--”

“No! Absolutely no way, you are _not_ working for them at the Albert today. You’ve got plans, remember?” He looked genuinely furious, body wired for action as he glared at Callum, and Callum was taken aback at the intensity of his reaction.

“I couldn’t really say no, Ben, they were desperate.”

“You could too say no, I did!” He looked at Callum’s face and deflated a little, bringing one hand up to rub his forehead, looking defeated. “Of course, that’s because I’m a selfish prick and you’re a bloody knight in shining armour, aren’t ya? Come on then.” Ben turned abruptly and headed for the stairs back down to street level, Callum trailing in his wake, surprised.

“Are you not going into town?”

“Not just yet.”

* * *

They arrived in the Prince Albert a few minutes later where Tina greeted them with relief.

“You’re a star, Halfway, thank you! Again, I’m so, so sorry to ruin your day.” She glanced across at Ben, looked as though she was going to say something and then thought better of it. “But it’s just for a few hours to cover the busy period and we’re expecting a great crowd here! We’ve got a fab DJ all day and entertainment on later...”

“It’s all right, honestly, Tina,” said Callum, with a reassuring smile. He _was_ disappointed, but to be completely honest with himself, a part of him was also a little relieved; maybe this way he could get a taste of his first Pride without having to deal with the big, noisy crowds of the parade and the endless standing around. He might not let any of that on to Tina though, not if guilt was going to lead to her overpaying him for the shift.

“No, it bloody well isn’t all right,” said Ben, his voice raised, and Tina looked at him in surprise. Kathy appeared from somewhere down in the bar, and asked;

“Everything okay?”

Ben ignored his mother, still addressing Tina. “It’s _Pride_ , Tina, we had plans--”

“I do know that, Ben...”

“--so you of all people should know better! It’s not Callum’s problem if you can’t sort out your own staff, is it? You do know it was his fir--”

“Ben!” Callum said loudly, cutting across to interrupt him. There were already a few people around, early punters drifting in, and Callum really didn’t want his whole life story shouted across a room full of strangers. Ben looked at him and subsided.

“Whatever,” he said, crossing his arms across his chest and continuing to glower at Tina.

Callum smiled apologetically at her. “It’s fine, honest.”

“Right,” said Tina, giving Ben a wary look before turning so he was no longer in her eyeline. “Okay, well, get this on ya--” She pulled a T-shirt out of a box perched on a table next to the door and threw it over to Callum. “--then come down to the bar and give me a hand, yeah?” She headed down to the bar area, throwing another filthy look in Ben’s direction on the way past.

Kathy lingered for a moment. “You sure everything’s okay?” she asked Ben.

“Course,” he said, and she rolled her eyes, clearly aware that was the most she was going to get out of him. Another group of punters came in the Albert door, chattering and laughing, and Callum realised that at some point the DJ had started up outside as well; things were getting underway. Kathy also headed off in the direction of the bar, with a final “Come and give Tina a hand as soon as you’re ready” to Callum and a pointed look at Ben.

Callum unfolded the T-shirt that Tina had given him and smiled at the colourful design and ‘Gay As’ lettering printed on the front. He held it up against his chest, modelling it for Ben, who finally softened and cracked a smile at the sight.

“Suits ya.”

“I’d better get on,” said Callum. “Look, I am sorry about today.”

Ben shrugged. “If you want to be the kind of do-gooder who rescues kittens from trees and helps little old ladies across the street, this is where it gets you in the end, remember that. Grafting away in here when you could have been drinking and dancing with wall-to-wall fit, half-naked hotties.” But his tone was light and teasing rather than harsh, and Callum laughed in response.

“Today’s about celebrating who you are, right? Well, this is who I am, Ben, take me or leave me.”

Ben’s smile slipped for a moment at that, and he swallowed hard before fixing it back on again. “Well, right now I’m leaving ya. I’ll see you later.”

Callum frowned, surprised. “You not going into town for the parade?”

“Nah, not really my thing. Too crowded and commercial. You know they let cops march now?” He said ‘cops’ in much the same tone someone else might say ‘puppy-kicking mass-murderers’ and Callum couldn’t help smiling. “Might stick around here instead, see what the talent’s like.”

“So you were only going into town for my benefit?” said Callum.

Ben didn’t reply, but simply winked and walked off. Callum watched him go for a moment before shaking himself and heading for the loos to change his T-shirt and get to work.

In the end, it wasn’t actually all that bad, bordering even on fun. It would have been more fun of course had he been drinking rather than stone-cold sober, and relaxing rather than working; but the music was loud and upbeat, within an hour or so the place was packed and lively and stayed that way all day, and he found himself smiling and chatting happily to the patrons as they ordered, responding as best he could to the ones who flirted with him and getting more and more used to it as the day wore on. He left the more complicated cocktails to Tina or his fellow bartender Sam and stuck to the bottled stuff and spirits he recognised, but otherwise the work wasn’t exactly taxing and it allowed him to let his eyes wander, taking everything in. It was overwhelming, even just this small corner of London with its local celebration, and he wondered what the big one in town must be like. Next year, one way or another, he was determined to be there. 

After a few hours Ben turned back up again, ordered a whisky and then sloped off, vanishing somewhere into the crowds. Callum spotted him a couple of times on the edge of his vision here and there while he was collecting glasses from the benches outside the bar, but Ben seemed to be engrossed in chatting or laughing with people every time, never catching Callum’s eye.

The afternoon was wearing on when Callum found himself back behind the bar again, smiling happily as he turned to the next customer.

“What can I get you?”

Then he froze as recognition dawned. It was...oh, crap, what was his name? Ben had called him Cheekbones and for some reason it had driven his real name out of Callum’s head. Whoever he was, the guy who Callum had turned down at the launch night of the Prince Albert a few weeks back was now standing on the other side of the bar. He looked stunning, clearly having gone all out for Pride; he was topless, showing off a toned, tanned torso, and his face had been painted with bright, sweeping colours, accentuating the cheekbones Ben had mocked.

It clearly took him a moment to recognise Callum in a different context but then his face became guarded and he nodded in greeting.

“All right? You work here, then?”

“Just temping for today,” said Callum, hoping he sounded casual and unbothered. “Helping out a mate. What would you like?”

Anton - _that was his name! Anton!_ remembered Callum with relief - made his order of a round of drinks, and Callum did his best not to groan at the inclusion of a couple of cocktails from the Albert’s menu among them. He had a quiet word in Sam’s ear before collecting two bottles of lager and arranging them on a tray with some glasses.

Taking a deep breath and gathering his courage, Callum took his opportunity to lean across the bar and speak quietly to Anton while Sam sorted out the cocktails for him.

“Look, I’m really sorry about the other night. I didn’t mean to lead you on or anything.” Anton was looking at him oddly but Callum ploughed on, needing to explain as mortifying as it was. “It wasn’t that I weren’t interested, it was... See, I had some stuff going on. There was someone else. Or I thought there _might_ be someone else, but I only ended up making a bit of a fool of myself to be honest. Not for the first time. It was a bit of a disaster all round,” he added with a chuckle, “but that’s me.”

“Okay,” said Anton before his face broke into a wide smile. “Don’t beat yourself up about it, love, these things happen.” The rest of the drinks arrived at that moment, and they sorted out payment before he picked up the tray and winked. “See you around.”

Callum turned to the next customer with flushed cheeks, avoiding Sam’s questioning look, and attempted to take their order, feeling light-headed with relief. The atmosphere, the mood of the day seemed to be infecting him, making him feel fizzy like he’d been drinking champagne, though he was sober as a judge. He beamed so happily at the young woman with spiky hair and multiple piercings who’d just ordered a couple of tonic waters that she backed away from the bar in alarm.

* * *

“Fancy a dance?”

Callum straightened up, startled. He was back outside again some time later, collecting empties, and the noise levels were even louder than they had been before, if that was possible. He hadn’t heard Anton approach, but here he was, swaying along to some Spice Girls classic.

Callum smiled shyly at him. “I can’t, sorry, I’m working.” He indicated the stacked up glasses in his hands.

“Shame,” said Anton, drawing the word out as he eyed Callum over the edge of his drink. “Well, if you get a break later...” He didn’t seem to be in a hurry to leave, glancing around before stepping closer and asking in a friendly fashion, “So who’s this mate you’re helping out then, working here?”

Happy to explain, Callum began to tell him all about Tina, the Albert, and his own connection to the Carters. Somewhere in the middle of explaining how he’d got a new job, new home and completely uprooted his life and moved across London in the space of three days however, he suddenly stumbled over his words, stuttering to a halt.

The crowd had parted on one side of his eyeline and Ben had come into view, staring straight at him. It shouldn’t have been as off-putting as it was, but he stood out like a black mark among the colour and glitter around him. He was standing stock still, glowering from under his eyebrows, glass of whisky in one hand, leaning against the wall by the war memorial, his black clothes making him look pale and washed out compared to the smiling, dancing bodies full of life and energy he was surrounded by. He can’t have been the only person there wearing black - Callum had definitely spotted a few guys in leather throughout the day - but it was as though he’d sought out the most colourful, liveliest part of the crowd to draw attention to himself. Perhaps he had.

Callum couldn’t help but stare. Catching his eye, Ben looked away. Callum realised Kathy had come up beside him and they began to converse. She seemed to be asking him something, but he didn’t look best pleased about it.

“Everything all right?” said Anton, looking puzzled. Callum didn’t want to make the comparison, but his mind couldn’t help it; Anton was relaxed, almost glowing with kinetic energy as he continued to move to the upbeat pop music even while he held Callum’s gaze. He could have been on a poster advertising Pride, he wouldn’t have looked out of place on a billboard in the Underground. And yet it was taking every straining muscle in Callum’s neck to keep focused on him and not swivel his attention back to Ben.

“Yeah, sorry,” said Callum. “I just...saw the boss, I’d better..." He held up the glasses he was holding and Anton nodded.

“Like I said, if you get a break...?”

“Maybe,” said Callum with a smile, already knowing in his heart it wouldn’t happen. He noticed Ben had vanished as he made his way back to the bar with a pile of empty glasses, but discovered he was walking step in step with Kathy as he approached the door.

“How’s it going?” she asked. “Can I take some of those?”

He handed over some of the precariously balanced glasses with relief. “Not bad! Had a good day actually, Tina’s done a great job.”

“Er, it wasn’t all Tina,” she said, laughing. “But yeah, it’s going pretty well, isn’t it? How does it compare? You know, with other Pride events you’ve been to?”

They had reached the bar by this point, weaving their way through the packed room, and he hid his face while piling his empty glasses on to the worktop, aware he’d probably gone bright pink. “Oh, well, ya know...”

She looked at him expectantly, still waiting for an answer, and the slow creep of embarrassment spread up from his stomach and tingled down his arms.

“This is sort of the first I’ve been to.”

Kathy looked astonished for a moment before her face fell into a frown. “But I thought--?”

“Halfway!” Tina interrupted, popping up from the other side of the bar. “There you are - sorry, Kath - can you please take over for a sec? I’m _dying_ for a pee, I haven’t had a chance for like hours.”

“Yeah, course, Teen.” He swapped places with her and got to work, aware of Kathy’s eyes on the back of his neck; though when he next looked up, she was gone.

“Whisky, please.” He looked back, surprised at the familiar voice, and was greeted by Ben’s smile. Not the soft, genuine smile he’d seen so rarely and always wanted to see again, but the smirking, sardonic one.

“Having fun?” Ben asked as Callum poured.

“Yeah, I am actually,” he admitted. “I’m getting the atmosphere. Tina said I can finish up once things quiet down a bit in a couple of hours, once the entertainment starts.”

Ben nodded, taking hold of the whisky glass with a quiet ‘thanks’. “She owes you, ya know,” he added. “Big time. Speak of the devil.”

Tina had returned from her break, giving Ben a nasty look as she approached the bar. “All right?” she asked Callum, and he nodded happily. “I’m back now, you can take your break.” She glanced at Ben. “If you want to.”

“Thanks, Teen.”

Callum grabbed a water from behind the bar and made his way upstairs to the upper level of the Albert, hoping it might be a bit quieter up there. He was unsurprised to find Ben following him close behind.

“I think she thinks I’m trying to corrupt you,” said Ben dryly as they climbed the stairs. “Maybe that’s why you got roped in today, keep you away from Big Bad Ben...”

“Nah,” said Callum with a laugh, “Tina’s not like that.” He glanced at Ben as they reached the top of the stairs, wondering if he dared ask about the history Ben apparently had with Shirley, but decided against it.

In unspoken agreement they headed for the balcony. It was slightly more crowded than the last time they had been there, the night of the opening, but they found a quieter spot round to one side of the building. They stood in silence for a moment, side by side, arms resting on the railing as they had that other night. Callum tried to put out of his mind how it had ended that last time. He wouldn’t be making a fool out of himself again.

“I see Cheekbones is back,” said Ben, and Callum wondered if Ben’s mind had been running on similar lines to his own.

“Yeah.”

“He seems keen.” Ben took a sip of his whisky, staring at the buildings opposite. “You gonna go for it?”

Callum shrugged. “Not sure. Probably not.”

“Why not?”

“Do I need a reason?” asked Callum, turning to look at Ben and wishing he would look him in the eye. An Overground train rattled past on the viaduct next to them, and they waited for the noise to die down.

Ben finally turned to meet his gaze. “Guess not. None of my business anyway.” He downed the rest of his whisky before leaning his arms back on the railing, rolling the glass between his hands.

“So what about you?” said Callum.

“Me?”

“Seen anyone who takes your fancy?”

Ben made a noise that was somewhere between a snort and a laugh. “Might have done. You’ll ‘ave to wait and see, won’t ya?”

“I’m all right without actually _seeing_ it, to be honest with ya,” said Callum, wrinkling his nose, and Ben laughed. “Hope you’re having fun anyway. I am sorry I ruined the day we had planned.”

Ben gave him a hard look. “ _You_ didn’t. Tina and my mum did. Anyway, it was your day, not my day. Just have to do it next year, won’t we?”

Callum smiled at that, his heart lifting almost out of his chest at the suggestion that they’ll still be friends this time next year. He’ll get over his attraction to Ben in time, he’s sure of it, but the thought of getting to know him as a mate over the next twelve months fills him with a giddiness that’s almost embarrassing, like being a kid thrilled to make a new friend at school.

“Oh, god,” added Ben suddenly, his face twisting in disgust. “I bloody _hate_ this song.”

“And you call yourself a gay man,” said Callum, laughing, his heart feeling freer than it ever probably has before. The day hasn’t been what he expected when he set out this morning, but it’s quite possibly been one of the best days of his life. “What’s wrong with Kylie?”

“Hey, nothing wrong with Kylie,” said Ben, still looking like someone had just shoved a plateful of manure under his nose. “Just this song.”

“I’ll wait for the next one before asking you to dance then.” It had just slipped out, Callum still feeling giddy and light-headed from the atmosphere of the day, but Ben seemed to take it seriously. His gaze slid away from Callum’s face as he addressed a point somewhere past Callum’s left earlobe.

“I don’t dance.”

“Okay.”

They stood in silence for a minute or two more, but it was no longer the easy, comfortable silence of earlier. Callum wasn’t quite sure what he’d done. After a while, he declared his break to be over and left.

* * *

Finally, darkness fell as the evening wore on, and Tina came and found a weary Callum in the Albert bar. The inside of the bar was emptying out as a drag act took to the stage outside, and Callum was loading glasses into the dishwasher at the back, happy but exhausted.

“You have no idea how grateful I am,” said Tina, looking happy but exhausted herself. “Thank you, thank you so much. Go and enjoy the rest of your night!” He smiled at her, rescuing his jacket as he prepared to leave. “Halfway...” She put out a hand and rested it on his arm. “I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t realise it was your first Pride or I _never_ would have asked you to work. I’m so sorry I ruined it for you.”

“Ya didn’t ruin it, don’t worry,” said Callum, realising Kathy must have told her. “Today’s been fun.”

“Kathy said you had plans all day with Ben,” she said, looking warily at him. “Was it a date? Is that why he threw such a strop earlier?”

“Nah,” he said with a chuckle, “we’re just mates. We were just gonna see the parade and have a few drinks.”

Tina nodded, looking dubious. “Look...I’ve fallen for a few bad girls in my time. More than a few, actually. I get it. I mean, I really, really get it,” she added with a chuckle so filthy, Callum could feel the blush accelerating at warp speed from his boots to the top of his head. “Just...be careful, yeah? You ever want to talk--"

“We’re just mates, Teen,” he reassured her as quickly as he could, really needing her to stop talking. “Honestly.”

“Okay.” She smiled at him. “I’m holding you up, go and have fun! You’ve earned it.”

“I still want paying actual cash as well though,” said Callum, mock serious.

“Oh, yeah.” She laughed and gave him a hug.

He made his way outside to where most of the crowd had gathered in front of the stage to watch a drag queen warm up the atmosphere with some wise cracking, getting ready to introduce the first singer. Callum skirted round the edge of the crowd, pressing himself into the wall as he made his way past, wondering vaguely about trying to find Ben or just trying to find a quiet spot to watch the performances.

As he squeezed past with repeated ‘excuse me’s, Callum realised at one point that he was brushing past Anton.

“Oh, sorry.” He gave Anton a warm smile and was surprised to receive only a cold nod in return, Anton’s attention fixed on the stage.

“Everything all right?” said Callum, taken aback.

Anton glanced around, then leaned down to shout in Callum’s ear, making himself heard over the noise of the crowd’s laughter.

“Look, I don’t want to get in the way of whatever weird games you and your ex are playing, all right?” he said. “Not my thing.”

Callum stared at him, baffled. “My ex?”

“Or whoever he is. Short guy? Black jacket, brown hair, bad temper, super possessive? He warned me off.”

The noise of the crowd and the press of the bodies around him on top of this statement was just too much, it was like a cold wind was howling through Callum’s head. He opened his mouth to protest that Ben wasn’t his ex, wasn’t anything to him, but the words wouldn’t come out.

Anton shrugged. “Look, whatever. Sort it out with him. I’m just not here for getting mixed up in any drama, you know? It’s Pride man, I was just looking for some fun.”

“Yeah,” said Callum, his mind blank, unable to say any more. He could only stare at Anton’s face without really seeing him. “I’m sorry.”

A cheer rose from the crowd around them and scattered applause broke out as the first singer took to the stage and the song started to play. Callum backed away, finding a quiet spot farther down the street, as the drag queen’s voice rang out over the PA system.

_I look into the window of my mind..._

Callum pulled his phone out of his pocket to send a text.

_‘We need to talk. Meet me in the Arches. Callum’_

He turned on his heel and stalked under the railway bridge, the fury building up in him until he was all but vibrating with rage by the time he reached the locked up garage and leaned against the wall to wait.

The song playing out from the stage outside the Prince Albert, just the other side of the viaduct, was almost as loud here as it had been among the crowd, but the night was still and peaceful on this side, nothing moving and no street lights. It was though he was being surrounded, enveloped by the warm darkness of the summer night, the pressure building in his head as the music swirled around him.

_What have you done today to make you feel proud?_

He didn’t have to wait long. Barely a minute had passed, if that, before Ben appeared. He didn’t speak at first, glancing at Callum as he pulled a set of keys out of his pocket and unlocked the padlock on the heavy metal door. Only once he’d freed it and managed to push the door open did he say, “Everything okay?”

Callum didn’t reply, pushing his way into the dark garage and turning to face Ben. His anger was still making him tremble, but there was something else underneath it as well, a kind of fear or excitement he didn’t want to think about too closely.

Ben followed him more slowly, reaching out to switch on a lamp sitting on the desk by the door, illuminating one corner. It seemed to fill the rest of the garage with darker shadows, and Callum swallowed as Ben pulled the door closed behind him, trapping them both inside.

“You wanted to talk,” said Ben. He crossed back over to the desk and threw himself down in the chair, lounging back with practised ease. “So talk.” The lamplight threw shadows over his face, giving him a faint air of menace that hadn’t been there before.

Callum gathered up the fury that had been propelling him ever since he’d spoken to Anton, and threw the full force of it behind his words.

“Where the _hell_ do you get off, Ben? Trying to control who I can and can’t see? What the fuck did you think you were doing?” He clenched his fists by his sides as he talked, pushing his head and shoulders forward, wanting Ben to know just how angry he was.

Ben swallowed, looking discomfited for only the briefest of moments before the mask went back up. “Sorry mate, you’ve lost me.”

“Anton told me what you said.”

“Who’s Anton?” said Ben, head on one side, the very picture of innocent confusion.

Callum clenched his fists by his sides, shaking with rage. “You know full well what I’m talking about.”

Ben shrugged, spreading his hands wide. “If you mean Cheekbones, I think he maybe got the wrong end of the stick, I barely spoke to him.”

Callum glared, determined not to let go of his anger or to let Ben talk his way out of this. “Why the hell were you even talking to him at all?”

“Okay,” said Ben, his face calm, but one hand beginning to fidget with a set of keys that had been left on the desk beside him. Callum found himself focusing on the movement, his rage dissipating a little despite himself. “I’ll level with you. You said you weren’t interested, but I could see he was still hanging around, and I know you’re maybe just that bit too polite to tell someone to fuck off directly, so I thought I’d give him a bit of a hint. That’s all.”

The anger back flared up again, stronger than before. “Are you fucking kidding me?! You don’t get to do this, Ben! You don’t get to decide for me who I get off with! You barely know me, we’re not even friends.” He was jabbing his finger into the air as he made each point, getting closer and closer to Ben as he spit out his fury. The younger man made no attempt to move, watching Callum’s face closely as he raged. “And you definitely don’t get to ignore me and tell me you’re not interested one minute, and the next warn off any man that approaches me like some sort of jealous control freak!”

“You think I’m jealous?” said Ben. The question rang out between them in the dark garage as Ben rose from his chair, getting to his feet. Without realising it, Callum had stepped right into Ben’s personal space; when Ben stood up, they were practically nose to nose. Callum couldn’t do anything about it without retreating, conceding ground. So he stayed where he was; too close for a decent punch, close enough for a kiss.

Callum swallowed. He hadn’t thought too much about it, hadn’t wanted to think about it, had wanted to keep hold of his anger at Ben’s behaviour without thinking too closely about the motive behind it. But what else could it be?

“Aren’t you?” said Callum.

One side of Ben’s mouth curved upwards, his eyes fixed on Callum’s. Callum noticed with a slight thrill that he seemed to be breathing a little harder. “Wow, someone thinks a lot of themselves,” drawled Ben softly. Still he didn’t move or even blink.

“I don’t want to play games, Ben. I’m sick of this,” Callum spat out, the last embers of his anger still burning. “If you want to be my friend, then act like it, treat me like a grown up, let me make my own decisions. But if you don’t think you can handle us being friends, then...” He stared into the blue eyes so close to his own. “Maybe think about why that is.”

He’d been half-expecting it, so there was no shock when Ben responded by grabbing the front of his T-shirt with both hands and pulling Callum towards him for a bruising kiss. There was none of the gentle tenderness there had been on the balcony at the Albert; this was hot, messy and dirty, all teeth and tongues, all the tension that had been hanging in the air between them diverted into the kiss.

Callum wrapped one arm around Ben’s back, pulling him closer, the other hand reaching up to scrape over his stubble, and Ben let out a moan that went straight to Callum’s groin. They broke apart for a moment, both gasping for air, before resuming the kiss, Callum pushing Ben around and backwards until his legs met the desk in their corner of the silent garage. Ben pulled away for a moment, clearing a space on the desk without seeming to care that half the papers ended up on the floor, and then hopped up on to the desk, reaching out for Callum again.

Callum willingly stepped into the space between Ben’s thighs, cupping his face between his hands and pulling Ben in for another deep, messy kiss. Ben wrapped his legs around Callum’s back, bringing their bodies together, moaning again as their groins collided and they began to grind against each other. Needing to feel skin, Callum pushed up the rough material of Ben’s T-shirt, running his hands over the smooth skin underneath and up Ben’s back as Ben shuddered beneath his touch.

Then, out of nowhere, Ben pulled back, stopping the kiss, gulping for breath, his legs dropping back down to either side of Callum’s thighs. Callum hated himself for the pathetic whine that fell from his own throat as his body lurched forward despite himself. He stared at Ben in the dim lamplight - hair messed up, eyes blown, lips shiny and swollen - and thought it was possibly the hottest damn thing he’d ever seen. If Ben was about to tell him again that this was a mistake and they should just be friends, he was going to explode with frustration.

But Ben had other ideas. “Do you really want to do this here?” said Ben, his voice sounding hoarse. “I just really don’t fancy having to explain to pretty boy Taylor what the mess is all over the desk...” He shuffled forward and dropped down to the floor, straightening up his clothes. “Back to mine?”

He placed both his hands on Callum’s chest, smiling up at him, and Callum reached forward and captured his lips in a kiss again, wordlessly confirming he would follow wherever Ben led.


	8. Chapter 8

**Sunday 7 July 2019**

Ben woke early.

He didn’t know why; he never woke early, especially not after a night out. Left to his own devices, nowhere to be, he tended to fall into a routine of staying up late, using alcohol or sex to drown out those inner voices that might not shut up otherwise, then sleeping until it was nearer lunchtime than breakfast. If he was unlucky enough to go to bed sober and alone, he still never made it there until well after midnight, usually then failing to drop off properly to sleep for an hour or two due to the endless thoughts whirring around his head.

But something had woken him ridiculously early this morning. He rolled over to glance at the bedside clock to his right to confirm that yes, it _was_ practically still the middle of the night, thank you very much, then rolled back again to take in the sight of the man lying fast asleep on his other side. 

Callum shifted in his sleep, snoring gently as his head nestled against the pillow, one arm flung over towards Ben. If Ben had been a different sort of person, it would be so easy to slide over in the bed, just the work of a second to pull that arm over him and nestle against that broad chest. The early morning light was creeping in through the gap in the curtains, softly illuminating the curves of Callum’s face.

If there hadn’t been a risk it would wake the sleeper, Ben would have groaned out loud. What the fuck had he done?

He had two instincts currently battling for attention right now, both as strong as each other. That was nothing new though. That was just his life, always wrestling with two - or sometimes more - conflicting impulses in everything he did, all as real and equally important as the others.

He’d sometimes worried in the past that Paul had thought there was a _real_ Ben, hidden behind the front he put up, the shield he’d had to make to protect himself, and that he was letting Paul down by not finding him. But it wasn’t true, of course. There was no mask he could take off to reveal the real him. It was _all_ him, every instinct, every impulse.

Instinct one on this occasion was to wake Callum up, kick him out of bed, give him the old cold shoulder treatment and make it very clear this had been a mistake and wouldn’t be repeated. It would be the right thing to do, better for both of them in the long run. It would make him a bit of a bastard right now, but Ben could live with that, it wasn’t anything he didn’t already know about himself; in fact, wasn’t that the whole point? Callum deserved better. Short term pain for long term benefit.

That instinct however was being drowned out right now by the sound of a second one, soft and tempting in Ben’s ear, insisting that _he could have this_. Just for now. Just for a while. He could let Callum sleep or wake him gently, then spend the morning in bed exchanging lazy kisses and soft words. He could suggest that they get breakfast together, maybe even going for a walk down by the canal and finding a pub for Sunday lunch. A seductive image of them walking together around Victoria Park in the sunshine, sharing confidences and getting to know each other, filled his head before he could prevent it, so clear and sharp it was in glorious bloody Technicolour. He screwed his eyes up tight against it and turned his face away, desperate to get rid of the picture. It was a fantasy he couldn’t afford.

He’d tried so hard to resist temptation. He’d tried the cold turkey approach; ignoring him, blocking him, avoiding him, but when it became clear that wasn’t going to work considering the man literally lived next door and seemed to keep popping up all over the Square fifty times a day, Ben had decided to try for a friendly but arm’s length approach instead. Pretend to be his mate, have the occasional drink with him, encourage him to meet other blokes, get used to those clear blue eyes living right next door until they stopped affecting Ben the way they did. Familiarity breeds contempt, right?

Maybe he could have kept it going if Callum had been what he first appeared to be, just this soft, earnest, sincere - _extremely_ hot - guy with that stupidly gorgeous wide smile that a weaker man than Ben could so easily fall for and do anything just to see again. But yesterday, another Callum had emerged, all forceful anger and righteous indignation, standing up for himself in a way that had left Ben so weak at the knees he was amazed he managed to hold out for the few minutes he did.

Quite frankly, he thought to himself, he deserved some sort of medal for not jumping Callum’s bones the very first second they entered the Arches, the way he was huffing in anger and glaring at him like that. Even the memory of it was turning Ben on again. He rolled onto his back, away from Callum, and tried to calm his breathing and clear his mind, really not needing his morning wood to turn into a full-blown erection.

Ben didn’t meet earnest a lot. Or sincere. It wasn’t something you came across a lot among the kind of guys he deliberately chose to hook up with. Everyone was out for a good time, putting up a front, presenting the best image of themselves. It was a world he understood. It was in many ways like the world he’d grown up in, though his father would have been horrified at the comparison between Ben’s world of clubs and apps and late-night hookups and Phil’s world of dodgy deals sealed with a handshake over a pint down at the dog racing. But both worlds had their own conventions and a certain code, a front that people put up, an unspoken sense that this was a game that everyone knew the rules to.

And sometimes you’d get a newcomer, an outsider coming in, either wandering in by accident or deliberately seeking out the thrills and excitement of the game. Either they picked up the rules pretty quickly, or they realised it wasn’t for them and stopped playing.

He’d been so sincere, that night in the club. Clear blue eyes full of pain as he spoke about his loss, and Ben hadn’t known what to do.

He couldn’t have given him a reassuring hug and soft words of comfort and told him it was all going to be all right. That wasn’t him. Besides, that wasn’t what Callum was looking for or he wouldn’t have sought out a stranger through a hook up app in the first place. But he could look after him in other ways, couldn’t he? Make sure his first experience back out there was a great one, give him nothing but good memories to go away with.

There was always Option B, of course. He could have simply walked away, told Mr Dead Boyfriend that this wasn’t the kind of night he was looking for and left him there in the club. That was more ‘Ben’ than hugs and comforting words, right? But something had stopped him.

Ben avoided sincere, as a rule. There was no room for it in his life, not any more. Not since Paul, not since Luke. But every now and then one slipped through the cracks.

There’d been that guy in Newcastle. He’d been hot and they’d had fun, and Ben had broken his own rules, hooking up with him a few times, not really realising that this was starting to become a regular thing, or that they were spending more and more time together that wasn’t just about sex. Then one day he noticed how David was beginning to look at him with shining eyes and the way his own stomach did a flip every time he did so.

Then came the suggestion that Ben come over for Sunday lunch one week and meet the family and Ben had shut the whole thing down hard and fast. He’d tried ghosting him at first, but David hadn’t taken that lying down, appearing at the front door one night and demanding answers. Ben had been forced to find the harshest words he could to end it for good. The memory still made him wince; or it would have done if he’d allowed himself to think about it, but Ben had a lifetime’s practice of not thinking about bad memories. You get used to it.

Callum stirred in his sleep as time crept on and bright sunlight began to fill the room, and Ben held his breath, scared he would wake up before Ben was ready to deal with it, knowing the choice he was going to have to make. The only choice that would be fair to Callum in the long run. But he didn’t wake up, instead rolling his head away with a snort and settling back down into the pillow again. Ben released his breath. A mad impulse had seized his arm to reach out and brush away the strands of hair that had flopped down over Callum’s forehead, but he stopped himself in time.

He was _so_ sincere. It was such a turn on and it was so fucking terrifying Ben sometimes felt he’d forgotten how to breathe. That first night, Callum had spoken so simply and openly about the love he’d lost, his life, even his injuries, and Ben had been drawn to him against every one of his own instincts, like a man coming in from the cold and being drawn towards the warmth of an open fire.

He’d told him about Paul. A complete stranger, and he’d told him about _Paul_. Ben never spoke to anyone about Paul; not Jay, not Lola, certainly not Ian or either of his parents. He honestly wasn’t certain if the name had even passed his lips since the day Pam and Les had moved out of Walford.

The next day, scared and embarrassed at how much he’d revealed of himself to a stranger, a one night stand at that, he’d seen a message come through from Callum on the app and immediately blocked him. What else could he do? He’d seen the look in Callum’s eyes standing in the kitchen that morning and knew that he’d probably be up for a second round if Ben had suggested it. And then what?

There was no room for sincere blue eyes in Ben’s life, not any more. Not right now.

There was The Plan. It was a bruised and battered Plan that had encountered a few setbacks - okay, more than a few; his dad’s lack of funds, making it hard to fleece what the old man didn’t have, Lola’s complicated love life - but it was still a Plan and Ben couldn’t afford entanglements right now. Not messy ones. Not big-hearted, warm, open, _sincere_ ones who melted your heart with just a look anyway. A bloke could seriously fall for someone like that if he wasn’t careful, and Ben couldn’t afford to be anything but careful, not if he wanted to pull this off and take everything from Phil.

And that was still the goal, right?

Ben let out a slow breath, still careful not to wake the sleeping giant slumbering so peacefully next to him, though the morning was marching on. It was stupid, he knew that, but he wanted to stay in this bubble where he hadn’t made the decision to tell Callum to go as long as he could.

It had been so simple an idea to start with, a small germ of an thought, sparked by spending so much time with Lexi and getting to know her, finally reconnecting with her and Lola after years of barely acknowledging his own daughter’s existence. The idea had lurked at the back of his head for months, just a fantasy, hardly daring to make itself known and become real; could he use Lexi and his dad’s weakness for family, especially grandkids - too young to talk back or attempt to live their own lives or form their own identities - against him? To worm his way back into his dad’s trusted inner circle, then somehow take everything he had and leave him crying in the gutter. To make him feel just a fraction of what Ben had felt all these years. To be able to stand over him and ask, _‘am I enough of a Mitchell for you now?’_ When the call had come through from his mum, asking Ben to come back to London and fix whatever mess Phil had got himself into, it had felt like fate.

But everything had got so messed up. First the discovery that the Mitchell Empire was no more; that his dad was broke and somehow didn’t seem to be the man Ben remembered. He’d only been away a year, but Phil seemed to have aged so much in that time. Or maybe he had been getting older before Ben had gone away and he’d only noticed on returning with new eyes? Either way, he’d been shocked to find he was suddenly seeing his dad as an old man, begging for scraps from scum like Danny Hardcastle, not the all-powerful, commanding figure he’d remembered.

So everything was going to take much longer than he’d planned. Not a problem. Except, yes, _problem_. He’d never thought what it might be like actually living in the same house as his daughter, as a family. Not just her, but Lola too; they were becoming friends, genuine mates, in a way they’d never really been before, in all the years they’d known each other. He was, he realised, growing weirdly attached to the odd little dysfunctional family unit under the roof of number 45; living with his mother, he was growing closer to her than he’d ever been since she returned, he was oddly fond of Bobby in a recognising himself in the troubled teen sort of way, and even Ian was bearable in small doses. But Lexi...

Lexi was something else. The sheer trusting, unconditional love she had for him was so overwhelming he never knew what to do with it. What could you do with a love like that? Actually living with her, co-parenting with Lola, getting to eat with her and curl up with her on the sofa watching TV and stroke her hair when she was sick and hold her when she had nightmares and listen to her sing along to Little Mix and read her a bedtime story every night... God, it was unbelievable. He’d never pictured himself living in a family unit with his daughter, even an unconventional one like this, but now the thought of losing it terrified him so much it had added new variety to his regular rotation of nightmares.

And now everything was screwed up. Because Lola had let her hormones do her thinking for her and was back to making cow eyes at Jay again, so he’d had to get involved and get rid of Ruby - and yeah, bit of guilt at that one, but that’s fine, he also didn’t regret a damn thing, it would never have lasted long-term - but that had left things even more complicated. He’d manipulated everything so that Lola and Lexi would stay in Walford with him for now, but the three of them were never meant to stay in Walford forever.

The Plan had been so simple: get in, use Phil’s weakness for his cute little granddaughter to lower his defences, fleece him for all he had, then get out and head back to Newcastle so Lola could set up house with that drip Ewan, and Ben could do...whatever. It wasn’t about the money, really, not for him.

But did Lola want that any more?

Did _Ben_ want that any more?

He let out a loud sigh of frustration and instantly regretted it. Callum stirred beside him, then rolled over, his eyes blinking slowly open.

His lovely mouth curved into a wide smile. Ben’s heart clenched.

“Mornin’,” said Callum with a yawn, and before Ben could do anything about it, he’d reached forward and captured Ben’s mouth in a kiss. His lips were soft and yielding, and he tasted of sleep and sex and beer and sin. He clearly tasted it too, as he pulled quickly away, making a face and laughing. “Ugh, morning breath.”

“You started it,” said Ben, a smile dancing onto his own face before he could prevent it. He rolled quickly away and swung his legs over the side of the bed, sitting up with his back turned to his lover.

The truth was, he knew it wasn’t just the Plan. If it had been only that, he could have had some fun with a fit bloke while he worked on the ultimate goal of fleecing Phil and, well, if he ended up leaving Walford in a bit of a hurry and no goodbyes, so be it.

This was about Callum.

Everything he’d been through, all that loss and pain. Everything he was, all open and honest and real and kind-hearted and yeah, _sincere_. His life had been shattered but at some point he was going to start healing again and want to build something with someone new. He was the type, anyone could see that. He wasn’t Ben. And Ben could never be that person for him. He deserved someone real, solid, _normal_ , football in the park with mates and Sunday lunch with the family normal, not someone who’d destroy him and screw up his life the way...

...the way Ben had destroyed Paul’s. The way Ben destroyed everything he touched.

Behind him, he could feel Callum stretch and sit himself up in the bed, oblivious to Ben’s racing thoughts. “So...last night was fun,” he said, with a slight laugh, and you could hear the nerves and the hint of a question in it.

Ben swallowed. “Yeah. It was.” There was no harm in admitting to that, though ‘fun’ didn’t come close. ‘Intense’ would be the word he would have used if he was going to be stupid enough to voice any of his thoughts out loud. He stepped out of bed and reached for his dressing gown, wrapping it around himself.

Callum drew his knees up to his chest and hugged them, looking earnestly up at Ben, a slight flush covering his cheeks. “Do you fancy breakfast, maybe? In the caff? My treat? I might just nip home first for a shower and change of clothes though. It’s not as if I’ve far to go...” He laughed again at that, but this time there was genuine humour and fewer nerves in it.

Ben opened his mouth, unsure until he spoke the words whether he was going to refuse or accept, those two conflicting instincts at war again. But if he was going to have to have this conversation anyway, why not leave the bloke with a bit of dignity in a public place rather than naked in someone else’s bed? So it was a “Sure, sounds good” that fell from his lips with a neutral half-smile to accompany it.

His guts twisted painfully at the way Callum’s face lit up with a beaming grin. “Yeah? Okay, half an hour then?”

Ben nodded. “Half an hour.” He turned his face to the wall as Callum pulled himself out of bed to get dressed, not needing any more temptation, not daring to risk giving himself away. Dimly, he became aware that Callum had started chattering away behind him, a significant word breaking through into his thoughts.

“Lexi?”

“Yeah,” said Callum, pulling his T-shirt over his head as Ben turned back to face him. He looked slightly ridiculous in his crumpled, brightly-coloured ‘Gay As’ Walford Pride T-shirt from the night before, his hair messed up and rumpled from where he had pulled the shirt over his head. Ben had to hang on to that, to the thought that he looked slightly goofy and ridiculous, _not_ completely adorable and ripe for pushing back down on the bed and ripping that T-shirt straight off again.

“I don’t want to confuse Lexi?” Callum went on. “Because she knows me, and if she sees that I’ve stayed the night? You and I haven’t had a chance to talk yet, I don’t know...” He trailed off, his eyes searching Ben’s beseechingly, obviously unable to put it into words, but Ben knew exactly what he meant. And this, _this_ was why he was going to have to put a stop to this. Because Callum had only met Lexi once, but still remembered that she lived here and remembered to factor her in - and even cared about her wellbeing for the love of god, was this guy even real?

“It’s fine,” said Ben. “Don’t worry about it.” Then he surprised himself by stepping forward and running a hand down Callum’s arm, reaching up to place a gentle kiss on his cheek. “Thank you though.” He hastily stepped away again, aware that Callum was staring at him with wonder in his eyes and the beginnings of a soppy grin on his face. _Shit_. He didn’t quite know where that had come from, but that was the story of Ben’s life, acting on impulse and then having to clear up the mess.

He attempted to cover his confusion with a slight cough, eyes averted, indicating the door with his thumb. “Come on, I’ll walk you out.”

The dining room was occupied when they made it to the bottom of the stairs, as Ben had dreaded it might be. No Bobby or Kathy, thank goodness, but Ian was in full flow over his breakfast, ranting about the mess left in the street outside his restaurant after the Pride celebrations last night, while Lola and Lexi ignored him with practised ease. They all looked up as Ben and Callum emerged, but Ben managed to steer Callum quickly through and into the kitchen with a firm hand.

“See you in a bit, then?” said Callum. He didn’t go for a final kiss, much to Ben’s relief - what with the war raging in his head right now and the nosy onlookers in the next room - but he did reach out a hand and caress the back of Ben’s head for a moment, beaming happily.

Ben thought he might throw up with guilt and nerves. He was going to miss those big, beautiful hands. “Yeah, in a bit.” And Callum was gone.

“I’m going for a shower,” Ben mumbled on his way from the kitchen to the stairs, in the hope rather than the expectation that would forestall Lola.

It didn’t. “Uh, excuse me?” She’d bounded out of her chair and had all but launched herself at him in excitement, eyebrows waggling. “I don’t think so, mister! Wanna tell me what that was all about?”

“I’d really rather not hear details while I’m having my breakfast, thanks,” said Ian, screwing up his nose in distaste. He glanced at Lexi, who was eating her cereal and seemed pretty unbothered by any of this. “Anyway, surely not in front of...you know?”

“Lex knows her dad sometimes has friends to stay over, it’s fine,” said Lola, dismissing Ian with a look. She turned back to Ben. “So? Spill!”

“Give it a rest, would ya, Lo?” said Ben. He didn’t think he’d drunk that much last night, but a headache was definitely making itself known between his eyebrows now. “I’m not in the mood.” He turned and stomped up the stairs, Lola’s voice ringing behind him.

“You’re not getting out of this one! I want details, Ben!”

* * *

Ben’s heart sank as he pushed open the café door half an hour later and realised his mother was behind the counter. He’d successfully managed to avoid Lola on the way out, waiting until she was getting Lexi dressed before slipping past and down the stairs, but the absolute last thing he needed was for his mum to overhear this conversation. She never usually did the early shift on a Sunday, it was the one day of the week she insisted on a lie-in. He would wonder what sins he’d committed in a previous life to deserve this kind of punishment, but he knew full well it was down to the sins in this one.

Kathy greeted him with a cheerful smile as he entered the café. “Morning! What you having?”

He fixed her with his best stare. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, charming. ‘Good morning, Mum. How are you this morning, Mum? What an amazing job you and Tina did at Pride last night, Mum, and now you’ve dragged your aging bones out of bed to keep the Beale empire afloat without so much as a thank you from anyone.’” She made a face at him. “Marie’s phoned in sick. Coffee and a full English, is it? Get rid of that hangover?”

His stomach churned at the thought. “Just the coffee, thanks, Mum.”

“You sure? He’s over there, by the way,” she added, nodding and pointing in the direction of the table tucked away in the window.

His worst nightmare confirmed, Ben took a deep breath before turning and walking over to the table where Callum was waiting for him, a nervous look on his face.

“Hey,” said Callum as Ben slid into the opposite seat. “I just got here.” He leaned forward across the table and lowered his voice. “I didn’t say anything to your mum, by the way, about meeting you, I don’t know why she said that--”

“It’s all right,” said Ben with a reassuring smile he didn’t feel. “Don’t worry about it.” It didn’t bode well for the future though and neither did Lola’s reaction - he’d already had weeks of Lola badgering him about Callum, trying to tell him what a good guy he was as though that was a recommendation and not the entire reason he needed to stay as far away as possible - but he pushed those thoughts to one side to be dealt with later.

Callum was the problem for right now. It had only been thirty minutes or so since he’d seen him, but Ben had somehow forgotten again just how flipping gorgeous he was. Newly showered and smelling good, hair neatly gelled back into place, wearing what Ben suspected was one of his best shirts - and oh the guilt that stabbed at him over that - he was also wearing a shy and slightly anxious expression as he fiddled with the handle on his mug of tea. The commanding, forceful figure of the night before had faded away, but Ben knew the buttons to press now to get him back. As he’d suspected right from that first night, there were a lot of layers to the man waiting to be uncovered. And there was still that sweet, seductive voice in Ben’s ear, insisting that he could play along with this. Just for now. He could give it up any time he liked.

“So,” said Callum softly. His eyes finally glanced up from his mug and met Ben’s. “Last night. That was...unexpected.” He huffed out a slight laugh on the last word, the corners of his mouth turning up as he did so, and Ben watched in silence, taking in every freckle, every muscle movement, every soft curve of his face, committing them all to memory. “It was great, though.”

“Yeah,” said Ben, knowing he was going to have to contribute to this conversation at some point. “It was.”

Callum peered up at him from under his eyelashes, eyes sparkling. “You got any plans for today? It’s a nice day, I was wondering about getting out of Walford for a bit maybe, going for a walk somewhere or something. You know, if ya fancied it...?”

This was it then. Moment of truth.

Ben looked at him...then carried on looking, and looking. In reality, it can’t have been for more than a second or two, but when he replayed the scene in his head later, it played out like an infinite pause as he fell forward into the void, helpless, drowning, screaming. He looked at Callum’s face, at his hands, at that hopeful smile and those open, honest, _sincere_ eyes and knew there was only one decision he could make. That crystal clear picture of them strolling side by side through Victoria Park in the sunshine evaporated into mist in his mind.

Ben swallowed, before settling his features into something he liked to think of as Bastard Mode. “Look, Callum...last night was really fun, don’t get me wrong. But let’s not get carried away, yeah, mate?”

“Carried away,” repeated Callum. His voice was flat, and Ben found himself struggling to look at the other man’s face, his eyes drifting away and focusing on a poster for ballet classes at the community centre instead.

“I told ya before, I don’t really do long-term.”

“You do jealous and possessive, though.” Ben risked looking back. Soft blue eyes had gone, replaced by ice cold shards of anger that seemed to be staring right through him.

He swallowed down the last stab of guilt, remembering that Callum would thank him for this in the long run. “I’m sorry if you got the wrong idea.”

Callum glanced away for a moment, appearing to think. Then he swung back round, his jaw set, and his eyes bore into Ben’s again.

“Bullshit.”

It hadn’t been the reaction Ben was expecting. He blinked a few times. “What?”

“I ain’t doing this again. I don’t know what you’re scared of--”

“I ain't scared of anything,” said Ben, and hated himself for the way it came out, quiet and shaky, not the man he wanted to be. He glanced around behind him, but was relieved to see that the café was filling up and his mother was occupied with serving customers, apparently oblivious to their conversation despite Callum’s raised voice.

“I like you.” And there it was again, that open sincerity that managed to be both everything Ben craved and everything he was terrified of in one tall package. “And I _know_ you like me too. I weren’t proposing, Ben, I wasn’t suggesting we move in together and adopt a puppy, I was just thinking it might be nice to spend a bit of time together, get to know each other. Because we _have_ something, you know we do. Why don’t we see where it goes?”

After the firm, slightly pissed off tone of the rest of the speech, Callum clearly couldn’t stop a hint of pleading creeping into that final sentence. It tore at Ben’s heart and ripped past his defences, just for a moment.

“You’re a decent bloke, Callum. You deserve better.” Ben couldn’t meet his eyes, fixing his gaze back on the ballet poster again as his fingers fiddled with the cutlery on the table in front of him. “Last night shouldn’t have happened.”

There was a pause. “I don’t wanna keep going round in circles, Ben. I don’t know what all this is about, but if you decide to grow up and get over yourself, you know where to find me. Until then...just leave me alone.”

Ben kept his eyes averted as Callum got to his feet and left the table, not daring to look. There had been a slight wobble in the voice towards the end there and he was already having to fight with the Other Ben Mitchell as it was, that contradictory impulse that wanted to run after him and say of _course_ he didn’t mean it, he was just being stupid, _forgive me and kiss me and take me back to bed please..._

But he’d done the right thing. He had to cling on to that fact even as his hands clenched the edge of the table so hard that his knuckles turned white.

He heard his mother’s voice cut through the fog in his brain: “Are you going, luv? What about your breakfast?”

And Callum’s short reply: “Give it to Ben.” Ben winced at the un-Callum-like tone.

A few seconds later, a full English breakfast and a mug of coffee banged down on the table in front of him and Kathy threw herself into Callum’s vacated seat.

“Well?”

“I’m not hungry, Mum,” said Ben, pushing the plate away from him and picking up the coffee.

“Go after him, then!”

He groaned. Great. He was going to get this from all sides, wasn’t he? “Give it a rest, would ya?”

“I don’t understand you,” Kathy said with a sigh. “You clearly really like him, the two of ya keep staring at each other when you think the other one’s not looking like a pair of lovesick teenagers--” Ben choked on his coffee and started to cough violently, but Kathy ignored him. “--and I’ve not seen you with the same bloke twice since...” She trailed off. “...well, ya know, for a long time. And I know you were with him last night again, cos Lola texted me.”

“Have the pair of you not got nothing better to talk about?” said Ben in horror, genuinely annoyed now.

She raised her eyebrows at him. “Whatever you’ve done, go after him and tell him you’re sorry.”

“Yeah, cos it’s bound to be all my fault, isn’t it?” he said curtly, before adding in quieter tones. “And that’s the point. Just leave it, Mum.”

She might have been more unwilling to leave it - she definitely had a face on her like there was more to be said - but the café was busy, with half of Walford apparently wanting their breakfast cooked for them on a Sunday morning, and she hoisted herself out of her seat.

“At least text him. Or talk to him. You’ll regret it if you don’t.”

She was wrong, thought Ben to himself as he picked at bits of Callum’s unwanted breakfast. He’d regret it more if he did. More importantly, Callum would regret it the most.

He’d done the right thing. And the pain that he was feeling right now, that twisting in his stomach and the red-hot prickling behind his eyes that he was refusing to allow to turn into actual tears...well, that just proved it, didn’t it? He was in too far already. If he’d played along with this any longer, he might have fallen too deep to get back out again and that would have been a disaster for everyone.

He gulped back the last of his coffee, but it did nothing for how weary he suddenly felt, bone-deep exhaustion having crept through all his limbs until his head was so heavy he could barely hold it upright.

New Plan: he would go back to bed and sleep for the rest of the day, thus avoiding interfering family and their incessant questions, and also avoiding the problem of how to fill the rest of his Sunday, which for some reason had suddenly stretched out before him, an empty void of hours of nothingness, needing to be filled. He would then spend the evening in a club somewhere getting absolutely smashed, like proper steaming drunk, falling over, blacking out plastered, and if he woke up in some stranger’s bed tomorrow morning with no memory of how he got there, well, that was all to the good.

Because that’s who Ben Mitchell was. And there was absolutely no point in pretending otherwise.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warnings: vomiting, some discussions of grief

**Wednesday 17 July 2019**

Lola came and found him, one quiet Wednesday lunchtime when Callum was in the kitchen of the Vic. She shouldn’t technically have been in there, not being an employee or trained in food hygiene standards, but he didn’t quite have the heart to tell her to leave, not after her opening statement.

“Ben’s an idiot.”

“I’m sorry?” He looked up in surprise from the plates he was carefully setting. He hadn’t really spoken to Lola since that morning he’d caught her eye while Ben was rushing him through the house, on the morning after they’d hooked up again. He’d served her drinks a few times in the Vic, and they’d exchanged the odd smile and nod and wave in the market or the café, but that had been the extent of it.

“He’s an idiot. I’ve told him that, I’ve told him he’s an idiot. We all have.” She stepped further into the kitchen, smiling sadly at Callum, looking awkward. “I thought he’d have got over himself by now and come to his senses.”

A small part of Callum had hoped the same, at least at first. In those initial 48 hours or so, he’d been glued to his phone, much as he hated himself for it; waiting for the text, the apology, the sign that Ben had realised what a muppet he was being and had changed his mind. As time had gone on however, the hope had faded, replaced by resignation with a touch of anger.

He knew Ben liked him. He was absolutely certain of it. It wasn’t just Ben’s little jealous moment at Pride, though that had been a big clue; but it was the night they had then spent together, the look in his eyes, the soft way he’d kissed Callum’s cheek the morning after.

But Ben was running scared for some reason and Callum didn’t know why. He wasn’t going to chase after him though, he had more self-respect than that. He’d meant what he’d said in the café; he didn’t want to spend the next however many days, weeks, months of his life thinking he was getting somewhere with Ben only for him to blow hot and cold with him again. He was going to stay well away until Ben either dealt with his issues or was grown up enough to talk to him about it.

“He, uh...” Lola looked shifty, as though she had some terrible news to impart, then blurted it out; “He’s been hooking up with other blokes, I think. I’m sorry.”

She looked so sad about it he almost laughed. Of _course_ it stabbed a little, under the ribs, but it wasn’t exactly unexpected news. He never thought Ben would be sat at home pining for him, that was exactly the point. He’d seen Ben a couple of times recently anyway, while taking early morning deliveries for the pub; he’d been rolling out of a taxi or dragging his feet back from the tube station, and he didn’t look like someone who’d got up early and gone for a health walk.

Callum shrugged at Lola. “We were never really anything, Lo, don’t worry about it.”

She sighed. “I could murder Ben, sometimes, I really could. Staying out all hours, drinking, gambling, I can’t remember the last time he spent any real time with Lexi...”

“Is he all right?” The question slipped out before he could help himself. Callum looked away from Lola, busying himself with his work, knowing he’d just given himself away.

“Honestly? I don’t know.” He heard it then, the note in her voice, and he looked up in surprise, meeting her eye. She had come even further into the kitchen, leaning against the fridge. “He won’t talk to me, he never does. I don’t know if this is just Ben being Ben or if there’s something else going on. And I can’t ask Jay because we’re not back to being _there_ yet. And...” She took a deep breath, clearly there was something more. “And I was so pissed off with him yesterday because Lex was doing my head in and I’ve barely seen him in days...I think I’ve put my foot right in it with his dad.”

“What do you mean?”

Lola shook her head. “Nothing. Don’t matter. I’m interrupting, you’re working. Just wanted to say sorry about Ben.”

“Don’t be daft.” He smiled at her, needing to reassure. “Not your fault, is it? And honestly, no need to be sorry about it. We never even got started.”

The conversation niggles away at the back of his mind for the rest of the day. He shouldn’t have been working that evening, but with Tracey on a night off, Tina at the Albert and Shirley out on mysterious adventures of her own, there weren’t enough Carters around to both cover the pub and look after little Ollie upstairs. So Callum found himself behind the bar with Mick instead of putting his feet up and playing computer games all night which had been the original plan.

It had been a long day and the pub was quiet. He found his thoughts drifting as he leaned against the wood panelling at the back of the bar, waiting for something to happen. He didn’t want to think about Ben, had been doing his best not to think about Ben since their last conversation the morning after Pride. He didn’t want to be that person standing wistfully in the middle of the Square, staring at the front door of number 45 in the hope that Ben would emerge from it; haunting his bedroom window in case he saw Ben walking past in the street below; finding excuses to go to the Minute Mart so he can accidentally bump into Ben there. A few times he’s found himself being close to becoming that person over the last ten days, but he’s managed to pull himself back from the brink every time so far.

It _has_ to get easier, right?

At least Ben seemed to be avoiding the Vic. And the Square in general, come to that, Callum hadn’t seen him anywhere as much as he hoped/feared he would. He went for a drink in the Prince Albert with Whitney the other night, and had again been half in hope, half in fear that Ben might turn up there, but no sign of him. Whitney had been making encouraging noises in the direction of various men she thought looked cute, but as he kept protesting, that was not meant to be the point of the evening. He didn’t know how she had apparently found out about Ben - the gossip mills of Albert Square could put Wikipedia to shame - but she had made it very clear she thought Callum was Too Good for _Ben Bloody Mitchell_ and appeared to be on a mission to find him something better.

Callum had successfully fobbed her off all evening. It wasn’t that he was planning on becoming a monk, or taking a vow of celibacy while he sat around pining for Ben for the next twenty years. God, no. He definitely didn’t want to be _that_ person.

But he was slowly working out what kind of person he was and who he wanted to be. His own person, without Chris, without his dad or his brother, making his own decisions. He’d done the hooking up with a stranger thing, and he’d enjoyed it. No shame, no regrets. He’ll probably do it again, if he closes the lid for good on whatever’s going on with Ben. But for right now, he was content to just keep himself to himself and see what happened, and that was fine too. Either way, he was relishing the freedom that came from the knowledge it was _his_ choice to make.

The group of market traders near the door got up and left with cheerful, noisy goodbyes, leaving the pub near empty and deathly quiet.

Mick heaved a deep sigh, walking over to Callum behind the bar. “What d’ya reckon, son, summat we said? They can’t all be at Tina’s new gaff, can they? Never thought I’d see the day we’d lose all our regulars to a gay bar, no offence...”

Callum frowned slightly at that but let it pass. “It’s just a slow night, Mick. At least there’s no chance of any trouble...”

He thought afterwards that what happened then was his own fault, that he’d jinxed it.

The doors banged open and Ben swaggered in.

He was a mess. Face covered in bruises, fresh ones by the look of it, and a bleeding lip, blood on his shirt. He made his way to the bar and planted himself on a stool, though it took two goes after he missed the first time round.

Swaying and glassy-eyed, he gave Mick a wide smile. “Your finest malt whiskey, please, barkeep!”

Mick exchanged glances with Callum, who was hovering awkwardly nearby in a flurry of concern and indecision, before walking over to Ben and leaning over the wooden bartop.

He kept his voice low, presumably mindful of Mo Harris at a nearby table, unable to believe her luck at the free entertainment tonight after all. “I’m not serving you, son. Go home and sleep it off.”

Ben blinked at him. “’s there a problem wiv the colour of my money, Mick?” There was an edge to his voice even as he was audibly slurring, and it made Callum wince to hear it. He’d been sidling down behind the bar towards them, unsure what to do or whether to interfere, knowing that Mick was probably well capable of handling the situation.

Mick sighed. “You’re clearly off yer nut, son. I’m not gonna tell ya again. Go home. Stick some ice on that.” He indicated the bruises on Ben’s face while Ben stared him down, head on one side and a half smile on his lips. “Get some sleep.” Mick looked around and caught Callum’s eye. “Do me a favour, would ya, Halfway? Make sure he gets there and don’t choke on his own vomit or anything on the way? It’s dead here, I can do without ya for a bit.”

“Door to door service?” slurred Ben, raising his eyebrows at Callum in what might have been a suggestive gesture if his face hadn’t been such a mess. “Now there’s an offer...”

Callum knew he was probably blushing under the attention, but did as he was asked, coming round to the front of the bar. Ben was clearly in no mood to be helpful however, slumped on his bar stool with a smirk on his face as Callum approached, making no effort to move.

“Come on, mate,” said Callum, as casual as he could manage. “Time to head home, yeah?” He reached out an arm, unsure what else to do; and after a moment of continued staring, Ben eventually took it, sliding an arm around Callum’s waist as he got to his feet, throwing all his weight against him.

Callum steered him gently out of the Vic doors with Mick’s grateful thanks ringing in his ears and a comment from Mo that he _really_ hoped he misheard, cheeks flaming red in embarrassment. They staggered across the street in silence, Ben gripping on to the fabric of Callum’s shirt with one balled up fist. It was still early enough that dusk was only just beginning to fall around them. The street was quiet, though a window was open somewhere and they could hear music playing as Callum successfully managed to navigate them to the pavement outside number 45.

Ben stumbled against him as they stepped up on to the kerb, his body a deadweight, falling against Callum’s chest.

“God, Ben, how much have you had...?”

“Dunno. Started early. Hair of the dog. Fur coat of the dog...dogs, many, many dogs...” Callum attempted to pull him upright and round in the direction of the Beales’ back door, but Ben was still gripping on to his shirt with surprising force for someone that plastered, mumbling into his stomach. “There was this bloke...don’t think he liked my face. Would only let me go down on him.” Callum swallowed in revulsion, really not wanting to hear this.

“We took some stuff. Thought they were uppers, but mebbe not... Hang on a sec...” mumbled Ben, pushing away from Callum with some force. He realised why when Ben doubled over, hands on his knees, and started throwing up into the bushes in Ian’s front garden.

“Better?” Callum asked, once the noise seemed to have stopped.

Ben rolled back to face him, leaning heavily against the stone wall that surrounded the front yard, and raised bleary eyes. “Can take it on my own from ‘ere.”

“I don’t think so.” Callum stooped down and grabbed Ben around the waist again, pulling him to his feet. “Door to door service, right? Back door?”

Ben nodded, and they began to move. He could have just left him here, Callum knew. It was close enough to home. No doubt it would have served the bastard right, he’s sure most people would have thought it. He could hear his father’s voice in his head again, mocking, laughing at him, _soft, pathetic, doormat_. He tightened his grip around Ben’s waist and resisted the urge to sigh at himself.

They made it to the kitchen door somehow in the awkward, uncomfortable three-legged race that is a sober person helping a drunk person to walk, especially with a height difference as pronounced as this one.

It was, amazingly, locked.

This fact seemed to astonish Ben, who started pushing half-heartedly against the door with his shoulder.

“’s never locked. Never been locked ‘n my life. Try it ‘gain.”

“I don’t think there’s anyone in,” said Callum, not without a flash of irritation. He was tired, he was sober, he’d been working all day and he really wasn’t in the mood for this. “There’s no lights on and I’m sure it’s locked. Have you got a key?”

Ben’s lips curved into a lascivious smile as he leaned drunkenly against the door frame. “Jeans pocket. Help yerself.”

“Yeah, I’m not fishing around in your jeans pocket, Ben.”

After a pause while they stared each other down, Ben heaved himself away from the wall with a sigh and managed to fish out the key on the second attempt. Callum took it off him, suspecting the necessary dexterity and hand-eye co-ordination for key in lock were going to be beyond Ben tonight, and unlocked the door for him.

All of downstairs was in total darkness. After some fumbling around for light switches, Callum managed to find a table lamp and switch it on, depositing Ben with some difficulty on a dining room chair.

“I’m gonna get you a glass of water. Stay there.” Ben did as he was asked, staring glassy eyed at the table while Callum found a clean glass on the draining rack in the kitchen and filled it with water before returning. “Drink that.”

He ran up the first few steps of the staircase, but more in forlorn hope than expectation; the house felt dark and empty. “Anyone home? Lola? Mr Beale? Mrs Beale?” 

“Hark at you, all formal,” came the sardonic voice from behind him. There had been, unsurprisingly, no reply to Callum’s call, and he accepted defeat, returning to the dining room with a sigh and sitting down across from Ben at the table.

Ben hadn’t moved since he’d left him, head down, jacket still on, water untouched. Callum looked at him, doing his best not to wince as he took in the injuries to his face again.

“You need to get some ice on that,” said Callum, nodding towards the bruises.

“Nah,” said Ben. “Old news. Iced it this morning.”

“I thought...is that not from tonight? Your lip’s bleeding?”

“It is?” Ben raised a hand in confusion and touched a finger to his lips. “Ow. That hurts.”

Callum watched him, feeling the familiar mixture of annoyance and affectation that seemed to have been plaguing him ever since Ben Mitchell had appeared in his life. He didn’t know whether he wanted to hold him tenderly and kiss his bruises better, or give him another smack round the back of the head for being possibly the most irritating man he’d ever met.

“What _happened_ , Ben?” he eventually settled on saying.

“Me,” said Ben, flinging his arms open in a wide, sweeping gesture. “I happened. This is me. Pretty picture, ain’t it?” he added with a leer, and Callum felt his stomach lurch.

He got to his feet, heading for the kitchen.

“I’m going to get you some ice. And make you some toast.”

This was easier said than done in an unfamiliar kitchen. He located the bread in a bread bin easily enough and popped a couple of slices in a toaster, but it took him a while to track down plates and a knife. He jumped violently on turning to the fridge to find Ben leaning against it, looking at him with unfocused eyes.

“Why you looking after me?”

“What do you mean?” said Callum, heart hammering.

“Why you being nice? ‘s that what they teach you in the army, be nice to all the basket cases?” He leaned closer. “ _Halfway_.” He pronounced the word carefully, rolling it over on his tongue. “Mr Callum ‘Halfway’ Highway. Why do they call ya that? ‘n the pub?”

Callum shrugged. “It’s my nickname. Can you move please?” Ben obligingly rolled out of the way, and Callum helped himself to butter from out of the fridge.

Ben’s presence was unnerving him. Ben’s presence in a room always unnerved him, he’d never known anything like it. It was like he filled the whole space, commanded all the available attention, sucked all the oxygen out of the room until Callum was light-headed, his nerve endings humming, fizzing, crackling under his skin. No one had ever done that to him before, not even -

\- and _god_ , it felt so disloyal to even think it that it made him sick to his stomach -

\- but not even Chris. With Chris, he’d always felt safe. Warm. Comfortable. There was heat and passion there, but always underpinned by this solid feeling of _coming home_. The fire between them had been a warm, steady glow. With Ben, it felt dangerous; sparks, lightning strikes, a sense that this thing could rage out of control at any second and engulf both of them in a blazing inferno...

And yet, at the same time, he wasn't scared of it. He was drawn to it, fascinated by it, but it didn't feel threatening or overpowering. It was odd, but that same sense of safety, of home was there too, underneath the sparks - or it was as if he had the feeling it could be, one day. But perhaps it was all in his head. Not that any of it mattered, if Ben didn't seem to think it was even worth them giving it a go in the first place.

Callum risked a glance up from where he was carefully spreading butter on the toast to find Ben had edged his way along the kitchen counter towards him. He swallowed and returned to his task.

“Doesn’t suit you,” murmured Ben. “‘Halfway’. Neither one thing or t’other. ‘n you’re all man, aren’t you?” Callum froze in shock as an arm snaked around his waist and he felt Ben press up against him, half hard against his leg.

He yelped and leapt away, pushing roughly against Ben’s chest, the butter knife clattering to the floor. Not the most dignified of retreats, but effective. Ben stepped back, leaning heavily against the fridge again, looking sad but not surprised.

“Ah. You don’t want me no more.”

“Not really, Ben, no,” said Callum, just about keeping a lid on his anger. “You’re so wasted you can barely stand and you’ve just thrown up into your brother’s flowerbeds. I’ve had better offers.”

“Yeah...” said Ben. “I’m glad. You deserve better.” The last few words were muttered, almost to himself, as he turned and left the kitchen, returning to his seat in the dining room. Callum wasn’t entirely sure if he’d imagined them altogether.

He stood in the dark kitchen for a moment, taking a deep breath and wondering why the hell he was here. What had he done in his life to deserve this? This was the point at which any sensible person would leave Ben alone to stew in his own self-inflicted problems and return to their job in the Vic, a nice normal job, surrounded by nice normal people.

Instead, Callum searched through the kitchen drawers until he found a clean tea towel, then rooted around in the freezer compartment until he found a half-empty bag of frozen peas. He brought toast, peas and tea towel through to the dining room and sat down opposite Ben again.

“Eat that. And drink your water.”

Ben looked at the plate, picking up a piece of toast but not bringing it to his mouth. He held it between his fingers like a delicate piece of china as he asked, “D’ya think your Chris is proud of you?”

“What?”

“Your Chris. D’ya think he’d be proud of you?”

“I’ve never thought about it,” said Callum. He glanced around him, almost in desperation, not wanting to meet Ben’s eyes - where _was_ everyone? Four other people lived in this house, five if you included Lexi, couldn’t one of them come and get this plastered screw-up to bed?

(How do you stop yourself from falling for someone who doesn’t want you back?)

“Course he is,” said Ben, still holding a piece of toast suspended in mid-air. “How could he not be? Look at ya. You make people toast. Me...” He started to laugh, a nasty, hollow laugh with no humour in it. “My Paul wouldn’t be proud of me.”

“Don’t say that.”

“‘s true though.” He dropped the toast back on to the plate and pushed it away across the table. “I ‘ate toast. Should’ve got a kebab.”

“It would be all over Ian’s front yard by now if you had,” said Callum dryly. “Ben...what happened?”

“Hmm?” Callum indicated the bruises again. “Oh, that.” Ben sighed and shrugged. “I was in town, there were these blokes. Wankers. Mouthing off. They were scum. Like the ones...” He took a deep breath. “Like the ones who killed Paul.” It came out as a whisper and he turned to Callum, eyes wide. “They tell you what happened to Paul? Everyone knows everyone’s business round here...”

Callum shook his head.

“I killed him.”

The air between them seemed to be hanging still, crystal clear.

“I don’t understand.”

“I killed him. Three years ago this week. I couldn’t keep my mouth shut. I couldn’t just shut up and keep on walking like he wanted us to, I had to mouth off like a gobby idiot. Cos all those years of hiding and being ashamed, and I was finally out and proud, and I thought we were invincible. But we weren’t, were we? And Paul died because of me.”

Callum became aware his mouth was hanging open and quickly shut it. Another piece of the puzzle was clicking into place, but that paled into insignificance next to the sadness washing over him right now. “Ben, I’m so sorry. But that weren’t your fault.”

“You weren’t there.”

“No. But you didn’t kill him. Those blokes did, whoever they were. I don’t...” Callum swallowed. “I can’t even imagine what you went through. I’m sorry.”

Ben was staring at him, or possibly through him, or past him, eyes wide, fixed on some point in the distance or maybe the past. “I miss him so much.” It came out barely above a whisper.

“I know.”

“I was a better person then, with him.” Blue eyes filled with tears, quickly blinked away. “I’m never gonna be that person again.”

Callum swallowed. Words. He’d never been any good with words. “I don’t think it works like that.” He spoke slowly, carefully picking through what it was he wanted to say, remembering a bit of what he’s been thinking about all day today; about Chris, about making his own choices, about being the man he wants to be. “Maybe you _won’t_ ever be that person again. He’s gone. Don’t mean you can’t be the person you want to be.”

Ben looked at him, eyes focusing properly on his face for what seemed like the first time all night.

Callum found himself flushing under the scrutiny. He turned and picked up the bag of frozen peas, occupying himself with arranging them inside the tea towel. “You really should keep icing those bruises.” He held the makeshift ice pack up to Ben’s face.

Ben winced as it made contact.

“Sorry.”

Ben lifted one side of his mouth up as he reached up to hold the bag in place. “’s all right.” As Callum went to pull his own hand away, he paused, noticing something.

He gently grazed his thumb over the knuckles of Ben’s left hand as it held the ice pack, the large ring he’s noticed before still in place. He glanced at the other one curled up on the table too.

“You’ve got no bruises on your hands.”

“So?”

“Didn’t you fight back?”

Ben shrugged, looking defiantly into Callum’s eyes. They were no more than a few inches apart, Callum still holding his large hand over Ben’s smaller one, keeping the bag of frozen peas over the bruising on his face.

“You can’t keep doing this, Ben. Lola’s worried about you.”

“And you?” said Ben softly. “Why do you care?”

“Why do you think?”

The words had slipped out. After a beat, Callum raised his chin, not taking the words back, daring Ben to respond.

They sat in silence for a long moment, holding each other’s gaze. The grey twilight that surrounded them, encircling their little bubble lit only by a single table lamp, made it feel as though they were completely alone, as though the world had stopped around them.

“This weren’t...part of the plan,” said Ben eventually. He choked out a juddering laugh. “It’ll all end in tears.”

Callum said nothing. His right hand was still held over Ben’s left. Slowly, he lifted his other hand and placed it on the left side of Ben’s face, gently caressing the cheekbone with his thumb. He didn’t have a plan here himself, he just needed to provide comfort. He couldn’t have stopped himself for the world.

The tears Ben had mentioned were already here, pooling in Ben’s eyes, threatening to fall.

The sound of the front door clanging open broke the spell.

“Anyone in?” called Lola as she entered the living room, switching lights on as she went, Lexi running in front of her. She stopped as she took in the scene in the dining room. “Oh...sorry.”

Callum had pulled his hands back as soon as he’d heard the front door and was getting to his feet as Lexi ran in the room, heading straight for her dad.

“Daddy!”

Callum caught her before she reached him, kneeling down to greet her with a big smile that he was amazed he could produce.

“Hey Lexi, remember me? Your dad’s just feeling a bit under the weather right now. Maybe Mummy could take you up to bed and then you can catch up with Daddy in the morning?” He gave a pleading look to Lola, who seemed to get the measure of the situation pretty quickly, holding out a hand to Lexi with a big everything’s-normal-here smile on her face.

“Come on, sweetheart, it’s way past your bedtime and I think Daddy’s very tired too. You’ll see him in the morning, okay?”

“Can he read me my bedtime story at least?” protested Lexi as Lola began to usher her up the stairs, exchanging a grateful look with Callum and a quick glare at Ben on the way past.

Callum dropped back into a chair at the dining table with a sigh once they’d gone. Ben’s head was buried in his folded arms on top of the table, shoulders shaking. Callum waited a moment until the sobs had subsided before reaching out a hand and gently holding the back of Ben’s head, caressing the nape of his neck.

It was an instinctive gesture, but it seemed to be the right one. Ben shuddered and his body calmed under Callum’s touch. He raised his head.

“I’m so messed up.”

“Who isn’t?”

“She saw me like that...”

“I don’t think she really saw anything. Don’t worry.”

He sat bolt upright, looking grey. “I’m gonna be sick.” True to his word, he dashed to the kitchen and relieved himself of whatever was left of the contents of his stomach.

Callum waited until he had finished, then silently handed him a tissue to wipe his mouth and filled a new water glass, waiting until he had drunk at least some of it before leading him upstairs. Still without much in the way of talking, he got Ben to his bedroom, helped him strip down to T-shirt and boxers and got him under the covers, putting a new glass of water on the bedside table. Ben did as instructed without much resistance, all fight gone out of him. He watched Callum’s movements with sleepy eyes, not speaking a word until Callum went to leave the room.

“G’night, Callum.”

Callum turned back to look at him, but he’d already burrowed under the covers, curled up like a cat with his eyes closed and his head down in the pillow.

“Goodnight, Ben.”

Making his way back down the stairs, he got a fright on the first-floor landing when Lola suddenly appeared from behind a door to accost him.

“Hey. You got a minute?”

He didn’t really, Mick was going to think he’d absconded - or worse - but he couldn’t say no. He nodded and followed her down the stairs, back to the dining room.

“Thanks for that, before, with Lexi,” said Lola once they’d reached the ground floor. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Oh, well, ya know,” said Callum, embarrassed. Changing the subject, he added, “Look, I’d maybe keep an eye on Ben tonight, if I were you? Don’t leave him alone - he’s not just hammered, I think he’s taken something too, and those bruises look pretty nasty. He said he got them yesterday, but you can have like delayed concussion or something, can’t ya? He seemed really out of it tonight...”

“Great, that’s all I need.” She sighed. “I’ll stick my head round the door a couple of times, make sure he’s not dead. If I don’t kill him myself first, that is. Letting Lexi see him in that state, I could throttle him. Did you see the state of his face? No wonder he never came home last night.”

“Is she okay?”

Lola softened, smiling. “Yeah, you did a good job there, I don’t think she really saw him. She’ll see him tomorrow though, god knows what I’ll say to her. At least he’ll be sober by then and he can do some explaining himself. He can do some explaining to me an’ all, what the hell is he thinking, going out and getting into fights?” She saw Callum’s face and frowned. “...what?”

“He said something tonight. About Paul. It’s the anniversary of his death this week? I think it might have something to do with that.”

Lola’s face went wide, her mouth turning into a comical ‘o’. “Oh, shit.”

“Yeah.”

“I didn’t know...I mean, I knew about Paul, but I weren’t around when he died, I’d left Walford then.” She sighed. “I’ll talk to him. I mean, I’ll try. It’s Ben, it might be like beating me head against a brick wall, but...”

“Thanks, Lo.” He smiled and made a gesture towards the kitchen with his thumb. “I’d better be getting back before Mick sends out a search party.”

She followed him towards the kitchen door and stopped him as he reached for the door handle. “Hey, Callum? Thanks. And I’m sorry. About Ben. He’s...not always like this. He’s a bit messed up. He’s a _lot_ messed up. But so would anyone be, probably, if they’d been through what he’s been through.”

He smiled at her choice of words, echoing Ben’s from earlier.

“Aren’t we all a bit messed up? Everyone’s a bit broken.” I know I am, he added to himself, but didn’t say out loud.

“You’re probably better off out of it,” she said, and he wasn’t sure from her expression whether she was expecting him to agree with her or was hoping that he’d protest.

He chose to do neither, giving her a brief, one-armed hug and a big smile instead. “I need to get back to the Vic. I’ll see you later.”

He didn’t go straight back to the Vic though. Once he was through the Beales’ back gate, he paused and leaned his head back against the wall for a moment, and allowed the tears to fall. He didn’t know what he was crying for; for Ben, for the Paul he’d never met, for Chris, or for himself. Or for all of them.

He allowed himself just a minute or two. Then he wiped away the tears, straightened his shoulders, and headed back across the road and into the pub to make his apologies to Mick for taking so long.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who's left kudos and comments! I'm a bit overwhelmed by how many people seem to be reading this story.

**Thursday 18 July 2019**

Ben sat on the wooden bench in the Square gardens, wincing as the slats dug into his thighs. Everything hurt. Someone appeared to be drilling into the left side of his forehead while someone else was attacking the other side with a jackhammer. His bowels were twisted up in knots. His tongue was coated with some kind of gunk. He was both incredibly thirsty and yet the thought of actually drinking anything made him want to be violently sick; not that there was anything left in his stomach to throw up at this point.

All in all, he’d make a resolution never to take anything again with dodgy-looking blokes he couldn’t quite remember arranging to meet when he was already hammered before he even got to the meet up...but what would be the point of making a resolution he knew he’d probably never keep...?

“All right, bruv?”

Jay dropped onto the bench next to him and Ben groaned.

“Too loud.”

“Oh, really?” said Jay even louder, turning to raise his voice directly into Ben’s good ear. “Not hanging, are ya, bruv? You planning on opening up the car lot today, or...?”

“It’s still early,” said Ben shortly, his eyes fixed on the top end of Bridge Street where Martin was trying to persuade some poor punter that she really did want some lovely fresh tomatoes and maybe a cabbage to go with the grapes she’d tried to buy.

“Thought you might want to get a head start on things. Considering we were closed all day yesterday.” His tone was dry, Jay delivering a verbal smackdown in his own inimitable fashion.

“I had some business to sort out.”

“Oh, right. The kind of business that leaves you with a hangover like that?” Jay raised a hand and indicated Ben’s face. “Or are we talking about another kind of business? Want to tell me where you got those bruises?”

“Not really, no.”

Jay sighed. “Look, mate, I’m not being funny, but when you talked me into going into business with you, I did say I weren’t giving up the funeral parlour and you _promised_ me you could handle that place on your own.” He jerked his thumb in the direction of the car lot on the corner of the Square and Ben flinched as though it had been a blow aimed at him. It was a reflex, he couldn’t stop himself. He could live with letting down a lot of people - in some messed up way, a part of him almost relished it or expected it - but Jay was different.

“You know I don’t have anyone I really can leave in charge over at Cokers,” Jay went on. “I’d trust Big Nige with my life, but I wouldn’t trust him with the crem paperwork - he don’t know right from left on a good day, we’d end up with bodies being burned who should be buried and chaos everywhere. Pam and Les’ll have my head on a spike--”

“All right, I get it,” snapped Ben, the mention of Paul’s grandparents an extra stab of pain he really could have done without this morning. He risked a quick glance at Jay before turning his attention back to Bridge Street. “I’m sorry, all right? Won’t happen again.”

“Weren’t just yesterday the car lot’s been shut up though, was it? We got a problem here I need to know about?”

“No,” said Ben shortly. “I told you. It’s sorted now. You can trust me.”

They sat side by side on the bench in silence for a moment, both watching the busy scene in front of them; the market gearing up for the day ahead, neighbours exchanging ‘good mornings’, people calling into the café before heading off to school or work.

“Speaking of Pam and Les...” said Jay hesitantly, after a minute or two had passed. “It’s some time around now, ain’t it? Three years? Since Paul.”

“Is it?” said Ben, keeping his face carefully blank.

Jay nodded. “Well. You know where I am, you wanna talk.” He reached a finger up and scratched his nose, eyes glancing around the Square. “Fancy hair of the dog? Lunchtime in the Vic?”

Ben didn’t answer, his attention distracted. The tall figure he’d been waiting and half-hoping to see had emerged from the side door of the pub, nodding and exchanging cheery greetings with Martin on his stall.

“Ben?”

Ben got to his feet. “Hmm? Yeah, you were right, I need to open up the car lot. Just gonna grab a coffee first.”

“Pint, Ben? In the Vic, half twelve?”

“Sure, no problem.” He was barely paying attention, already striding out of the gardens and towards the market.

Ben’s eyes hadn’t left Callum the whole time, and his heart had sunk a little when it looked as though he was heading for the café - Mum was on shift this morning, and he _really_ didn’t want her to see this conversation happening and get the wrong end of the stick - but to his relief, Callum had stopped to chat to Whitney on her stall.

Whitney spotted him first as he approached, her bright morning smile vanishing in an instant at the sight. Ben’s courage suddenly failed him - he was _far_ too hungover for this, why hadn’t he left it until later? - but it was too late, Whitney’s change in expression had alerted Callum to his approach. The taller man swung round, his face becoming guarded on seeing Ben.

“Morning,” he said carefully as Ben reached the stall, giving nothing away.

Ben nodded at him, then at his friend.

“Whitney.”

“Ben.” Her voice was cool, and Ben felt a flash of irritation. There were plenty of people on this Square with completely legitimate reasons to hate him, where did Whitney get off with this attitude? He’d never done anything to her, not directly anyway - unless, shit, he _had_ , and his sins were so varied and numerous now he’d genuinely forgotten. His head was throbbing, he didn’t need this.

He raised tired, dry eyes to Callum - he’d been abusing the limits of his contact lenses recently, but today was not the day to risk anyone seeing him with the vulnerability of his glasses, that was going to have to wait until he could spend a day hiding at home - and gestured behind him.

“Can I have a minute?”

He prayed Callum wouldn’t leave him hanging, not this morning; but Callum was a good guy of course, that was the whole point. There was only the briefest of pauses before he nodded and a ghost of a smile appeared, indicating his agreement.

“I’ll catch up with you later, Whit?”

“Yeah, catch you later.” She was still glaring into the back of Ben’s aching head as they walked away, and he wondered what exactly Callum had told her.

They ducked into the space behind Kush’s stall, leaning against the back wall of number 45, and Callum raised his eyebrows expectantly, waiting for Ben to start. Head throbbing worse than ever, Ben tried to form words into some kind of vaguely coherent order.

“I just wanted to say...thanks. For last night. Taking care of me.”

Callum gave a shy smile, ducking his head down and staring at the less-than-attractive tarp that covered the back of Kush’s stall. “Only did what anyone would have done.” 

Ben resisted the urge to splutter in disbelief. Surely he couldn’t believe that. No one was that naïve about the ways of the world and the selfish bastards that make up ninety percent of it.

“I think many a barman would’ve just left me in the gutter,” Ben said instead. “And I’d probably have deserved it,” he added with a short laugh.

Callum nodded, still staring at the tarp, frayed plastic edges flapping slightly in the breeze. “Is that what I am to you, Ben?” he asked. “Just another barman?”

Oh crap, he didn’t believe in beating around the bush, did he? It was that bloody soft sincerity again; still heartbreakingly attractive, but also horribly inconvenient at times, like when Ben was fighting the hangover from hell and really not in the state of mind for that particular conversation. “I didn’t mean--” He sighed. “Look, I think I owe you an apology.”

“Go on then.” He raised his head to find Callum looking sideways at him, humour glinting in his eyes, and he couldn’t help but smile back.

“You got time for a coffee?”

Callum watched him carefully for a moment before his shoulders relaxed and he gave a ‘why not?’ shrug.

“Okay.”

“Not in my mum’s café,” Ben hastened to add, seeing Callum peel himself off the wall and begin to head in that direction. “Or _any_ establishment owned by a member of my family, please.”

Callum chuckled. “How ‘bout the park?”

Ten minutes later, they were sat at a bench in the park, nursing takeaway coffees from the kiosk. Ben realised it was the same bench where they had sat a few weeks ago and made plans to go to Pride together. Somewhere buried deep inside - very, very deep inside - there was a sad, soppy git who might once have thought something ridiculous like maybe this was becoming _their_ bench. But Ben had ruthlessly quashed him years ago, that voice was very faint now.

They’d ended up sitting side by side on top of the picnic table, feet resting on the bench, close together but not touching. Both of them were being uncharacteristically quiet.

“How’s the hangover?” said Callum eventually.

Ben sucked in a breath and then exhaled it slowly through his teeth. “Really, _really_ bad,” he drawled.

Callum laughed. “I’m not surprised.”

“Thanks. Again. For...looking after me like that. Being nice.” Ben groaned to himself. The words were coming out all wrong. Once again, he wondered about the wisdom of attempting to do this before the effects of his hangover had worn off a bit. But when he’d woken up this morning, bits and pieces of the night before flashing back into his mind as he staggered into the day, the urge to seek Callum out and say something had been overwhelming. He couldn’t seem to leave the man alone, however much he knew it was a bad idea - like a moth batting endlessly at the blazing heat of an old lightbulb.

“I’m still not sure what you expected me to do, Ben. Take a swing at you?”

Ben shrugged. Wouldn’t he have deserved it?

“How’s Lexi?” Callum asked.

Ben winced. God, he might not have aimed a punch last night, but he knew how to hit straight at the sore spots in other ways, didn’t he?

“She’s fine.” It came out harsher than intended and he softened his tone, adding, “Thanks for that, too. Making sure she didn’t see much.”

“I know...” Callum trailed off, looking hesitant, before starting again. “I know when I was a kid, it always used to scare me a bit, seeing my dad that drunk. Cos you don’t really get it, do you, at that age?”

Ben nodded, his throat tight. “Yeah, me too. I remember.” He did remember, all too well. He remembered the terror, the uncertainty, the desperation, the responsibility - because even though you’re only a kid, you think it’s all your fault, don’t you, as stupid as that is - and he swore when he became part of Lexi’s life that he was going to be a better father than his dad, didn’t he?

There was one big difference of course.

“Course, Lexi has a great mum as well as a shit dad.” He said it jokingly, gesturing to himself, but Callum took it seriously - _of course he did_ \- turning those wide, solemn eyes on him.

“Ben, you’re _not_ a--"

“But I only had my dad back then,” he said hastily, cutting him off.

Callum looked confused. “What about Kathy?”

Clearly the gossip mongers of Walford hadn’t filled him in on everything then. Maybe someone should produce a handy fact sheet one day with the basics, hand it out to the newcomers.

“Oh, she only turned up again a couple of years ago,” said Ben. “She left, abandoned me with my alcoholic father when I was just a kid.” He was going for sarcastic, flippant, the way he always talked about his childhood; like maybe if he acted as though it was all one big joke for long enough, one day it would feel like one.

“You’re kidding,” said Callum, wide-eyed. He put his coffee cup down beside him and shifted his seat on the wooden table, dropping his gaze to his hands, holding them loosely between his thighs. Ben took a moment to appreciate them, both the hands and the thighs - he was only human after all, who knew when he’d next have the opportunity? 

“Same here,” Callum went on. It took Ben a moment to register what he’d said, lost in a mild state of hungover lust. Then it hit him and his heart stopped beating for a second or two. “Well, except my mum never came back,” he added with a dry chuckle. He didn’t sound like he’d found it particularly funny. “It was just me and my dad and my big brother.”

He really didn’t need to know this, he didn’t want to know that Callum had a childhood just like his, except that somehow Callum had come out of it pure and whole and unblemished and like a ray of fucking _sunshine_ for god’s sake, while Ben was this broken, filthy coward who hurt everyone he loved. He was frozen in place on the bench, fingers clenched around the cardboard wrapper that held his half-empty cup of coffee.

“Hey.” He didn’t know how long he’d frozen for, but when he came out of it Callum was looking at him with concern. “You still with me?”

“Just admiring the view,” he said, falling back on an old favourite. Somehow it managed to come out flirty and suggestive despite his brain shutting down because this was familiar territory, he could do this in his sleep, and the fact his eyes had apparently been fixed on Callum’s thighs for the last however many minutes provided a convenient cover.

Either Callum was gullible enough to believe it, or perhaps just the suggestion was enough to distract him. A blush coloured his cheeks while he rolled his eyes and looked away, a slight smile appearing.

“It’s a novelty this,” he said after a moment. “You actually talking to me while you’re sober.”

The air seemed to freeze in Ben’s throat. _Shit, shit,_ shit _, is that what he thinks?_ Ben frantically replayed the last six weeks of their interactions in his head, because no, that’s not how it’s been, has it? He tried to think of it from Callum’s point of view and bile rose up in his mouth. But no, no, he _has_ spoken to Callum before when he’s sober, he has, he knows he has - but he knew what the other man meant, those were never real conversations, the front was always up, he was always trying to keep that distance between them. They’d only spoken about _real_ things, stuff that actually mattered when Ben was somewhere on a scale from half-cut to completely hammered.

 _But that’s nothing to do with_ you _,_ he wanted to scream. _That’s me, don’t you see? That’s why you need to stay away, I’m the opposite of everything you are. You’re open and honest and real, and I’m just a fake, a shadow puppet of a man._

Before he’d gathered his wits to respond, Callum was already wincing and looking ashamed. He twisted on the bench and put a hand out towards Ben in apology. “That was below the belt, I’m sorry.”

“What, you going for sainthood or something?” He said it lightly, a smile on his lips, taking the sting out of the words. “Why you saying sorry? I’m the one who owes you an apology here, remember?”

Callum huffed out a laugh. “Oh, yeah.” He pulled his hand back, but kept his face turned to Ben, one eyebrow raised. “I’m still waiting.”

Oh right, yeah. He hadn’t actually apologised after all this, had he? He’d better make it genuine...

“I’m sorry,” said Ben - and it _was_ genuine. “About last night. And...for the rest. I’ve been a bit of a dick to you.” His mouth twisted into a smile; it was more than he wanted to admit, but less than he wanted to say. “I am sorry. Especially for what happened at Pride.”

“For what happened at Pride, or what happened after?” asked Callum, not looking at Ben as he said it. He’d picked up his coffee cup again and had taken off the plastic lid, peering intently at the remains of his drink.

He didn’t need to elaborate, Ben got what he meant. Was he sorry for sleeping with Callum for a second time that night? Yes. He shouldn’t have done it, raising his own expectations for something he couldn’t have, didn’t dare hope for, as well as giving Callum the wrong idea. But also no. The memory was worth it.

Ben sighed. “Both. I’ve been giving you some mixed signals. Won’t happen again.”

“Which bit?”

“Any of it,” said Ben with a shrug. He turned to Callum, not knowing what to do but knowing he had to ask this. “Fresh start?”

Callum laughed again. “We’ve had about five of those already.” He was quiet for a moment, swirling around the dregs of his coffee in the brightly coloured cup. “I dunno, Ben.”

Well, that was fair enough. He didn’t really expect anything different. Ben stayed quiet too, not knowing what else to say, though it didn’t come natural to him. The temptation to cut the atmosphere with an inappropriate joke, put that distance between them again, was always there, but he just about managed to keep hold of his tongue.

Where could they go from here? He knew he couldn’t be just friends with Callum, he wanted him too much; they’d tried that before, and it had only ended up getting messy. But staying away, trying to cut him out of his life completely had only ended up getting messy too, judging by last night’s disaster...

“Why did you come into the pub last night?” said Callum out of the blue, and Ben jolted, wondering for a split second if Callum could read his mind.

Ridiculous thought. Bloody good thing he couldn’t read it, because Ben’s mind was currently running away with itself, answering the question: _Because you’re in my head all the time now and I can’t get you out and I think I’m falling for you and I needed to see you and couldn’t keep away any longer..._

Ben shrugged, adjusting the collar of his leather jacket in a casual gesture. “Sells booze, don’t it?”

“Ah,” said Callum. He looked around him at the quiet park. “I fancy some cake. Do you fancy cake?”

Ben glanced around too, trying to see if he could read the menu on the kiosk from this distance. His eyesight wasn’t as good with his contacts in as with his glasses, particularly this morning - he _really_ needed to schedule a glasses day somehow - but he’d be damned if he’d ever let Callum know that. “Don’t think they sell it here.”

“Aw, shame.” He looked genuinely sad about it and it was oddly adorable, making Ben smile. His hangover was finally beginning to wear off, just a little, as the tension ebbed away from between his eyebrows. Maybe he could do this after all.

“Look, Ben,” said Callum, and Ben turned to look at him, still smiling. “I’m...” He sighed. “I’m so sorry about Paul.”

All of the blood in Ben’s veins seemed to freeze. _Don’t go there,_ please _don’t go there,_ he silently begged.

“Losing someone you love is bad enough, but what you must have gone through, I can’t even imagine it. You do know it weren’t your fault?”

“And you were there, were you?” Ben snapped. _Drop it,_ please _drop it_ , his mind screamed, the snake that sat coiled around his heart stirring to life and preparing to strike again, not caring who it hurt.

Callum seemed oblivious, earnest eyes wide, hand reaching out to rest on Ben’s arm. “Look...when I was injured out the army, I saw this counsellor. It didn’t work out that well in the long run, but it did really help to talk about some of the guilt and grief I had around Chris’s death. I could look up her details for you if you--”

It was too much. The snake struck, its fangs bearing down. “What, you think you know how I feel, like we’re in some sort of sad Dead Boyfriends Society? You’ve no fucking clue, mate. You fell in love with the first boy that ever kissed you, and that makes you some kind of expert? Grow the fuck up.”

He pushed himself off the bench, throwing his empty coffee cup on the ground, the pointless, petty act of littering feeling like a full stop at the end of the sentence. He stalked off, not looking behind him, hands thrust into his pockets, not knowing or caring if Callum called out to him or reacted at all.

The boiling, righteous anger sustained him all the way from the park to the car lot, where he methodically and mechanically opened up the Portacabin, smartened up some of the cars on the forecourt, and started to tackle the backlog of paperwork until the monotony of it finally caused the anger to fade out and the guilt to fade in. The mood he was in, he was almost hoping for no customers - between the state of his face, covered in purpling bruises, and the dark thoughts rolling off him in waves today, he had about as much chance of selling a used car as he did of winning the Lottery, and he’d never bought a ticket in his life.

About an hour in, he threw his pen down on a pile of invoices and just about stopped himself from following it with his forehead.

He shouldn’t have snapped at Callum like that. He rubbed his forehead wearily, staring at the top invoice as though the answers might be written there. He’d felt patronised, and embarrassed, and exposed - but that wasn’t Callum’s fault, was it? He’d been trying to help, and Ben had flung that right back in his face. Callum shouldn’t have pushed it like that though, he thought grumpily to himself. At least he’d found one flaw in the bloke, good to know he wasn’t as ridiculously perfect as he first seemed; he couldn’t take a hint if it was dropped on his head from a great height.

Ben pulled himself to his feet and staggered over to the kettle, realising he was thirsty. Hungry too. He wished they’d actually managed to find that cake Callum had suggested before it all went to hell, he could have done with the sugar rush. Maybe he could close up the lot for a few minutes and get something from the café.

When the door opened a minute later, he glanced over with his best used car salesman ‘yes, mate, how can I help you?’ patter all ready to go; but it died on his lips.

Callum shuffled into the room, looking nervous, as though he wasn’t sure what his reception would be, but he closed the door behind him with a firm click, chin raised and eyes meeting Ben’s.

“All right?”

Ben nodded and echoed the greeting. “All right?” Feeling like he needed the safety of the desk in front of him, he returned to his seat behind it, one leg slung over the other, ankle on his knee. “In sudden, desperate need of a new motor, were we, or...?”

Callum followed him, a cardboard container with two more takeaway coffees held out in front of him like a shield, and a paper bag dangling from his fingers.

“We never got that cake,” he said, putting the cups down on Ben’s desk and taking the customer’s chair opposite. “Your mum’s caff does great doughnuts, thought a bit of elevenses might help with that hangover.” He placed the doughnuts down as well, ripping open the paper bag to turn it into a makeshift tray while Ben watched him with suspicion and slight disbelief.

“It’s too early for elevenses.”

Callum thought about it. “Ten-ses?”

Ben laughed, against his better judgement. He couldn’t help it. Just being around Callum made his heart a little lighter, however much he fought it. That soppy git he thought he’d buried years ago, deep inside, was fighting to make his way to the surface and it was terrifying...but it wasn’t all bad. He could admit that to himself, when there was no one else around to judge.

“I wanted to say sorry,” Callum went on in a quiet voice, looking at Ben like he was gauging his reaction. “For earlier. I overstepped the mark.”

And once again he was apologising for something despite not being the person actually in the wrong, it made Ben want to scream. “Yeah, well, so did I.” He risked a smile. “Paul would’ve told ya, I’m not good at letting people in. I’m sorry.”

Callum beamed, his face relaxing into that beautiful wide smile, and Ben marvelled at how that seemed to be enough for him. One ‘sorry’, no grudges held. “Apology accepted,” he said, then started to get to his feet. “Right, well, I’ll leave you to it.”

“What,” said Ben, mock outraged, “you’re just gonna show me yer buns and leave?”

“They’re doughnuts, Ben...oh.” He blushed, he actually _blushed_ to Ben’s eternal joy and delight, and took his seat again. Ben indicated the doughnuts and he took one happily, sinking his teeth into it with a joy that should be illegal.

Ben did likewise, savouring the deep-fried sugary goodness which was very much needed - and that was a bit scary too, because how did Callum _know_? - and making sure he took the opportunity to lick the sugar off his lips in as provocative a manner as possible, because hey, he was who he was. They grinned at each other and for one brief moment all was right with the world.

Callum picked up one of the cups, tapping the other one with his finger. “Hope I got the order right. This one’s yours, no sugar.”

Ben took the proffered cup with thanks, ensuring he brushed his fingers against Callum’s as he did so, and checking for a reaction. He got one and he smiled to himself. He was playing with fire here, he knew it, but it was like any kind of drug; just because you know it’s a terrible idea in the long run doesn’t stop you craving the hit.

“Look, I know...I know it’s hard to talk about all that kind of stuff,” said Callum. He was sat forward in his chair, watching Ben with those soft, earnest eyes.

“You seem to find it easier,” said Ben, wondering if he can deflect the conversation away from dangerous ground, keep hold of this gentle truce they seem to have found between them.

Callum shrugged. “The counselling helped, a bit. Getting away from my dad probably helped too,” he added with a roll of his eyes and a sheepish smile.

Ben managed to keep hold of his careful poker face but god, was that ever a whole can of worms he didn’t want to open. He’d tried it last year, putting a few hundred miles between him and Dad for a whole year or more. Not to mention both stints in prison... Hadn’t helped. Only seemed to make it worse, in some ways. At least when you were in the same room it was easier to remember he was just a man like any other; not a god, not a demon, not a legend, some monster out of a storybook made up to frighten children or a deity to be worshipped.

He hurriedly swerved the subject onto a different track. “You ever thought about doing it yourself? Counselling people, I mean.” Callum looked at him, clearly shocked, and Ben shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck. “Working with like, I dunno, messed up kids or something.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Just a thought. You seem to want to keep making me talk about things.” He smiled to make it clear he wasn’t going on the attack again. “I reckon you might be good at it. I dunno, it’s like you said before, you’ve got one of those faces or something. Every time I look at you I seem to tell you a whole load of shit I’m sure you don’t wanna hear.”

Callum looked bashful, ducking his head down to stare at his hands. “I don’t mind hearing it, Ben. But nah, I’ve never thought about doing anything like that.” He paused. “I don’t think it’s for me. Don’t know what I want to do yet. I do want to do something that means something eventually though, you know? Something that makes a difference. Sorry,” he added, sounding embarrassed. The tips of his ears were turning red and Ben watched them in fascination, wondering if he could make them do that in other circumstances. “That probably sounds stupid.”

“No,” he said slowly, “it doesn’t. You should do that.” He was quiet for a moment, thinking before remembering to ask, “Did my mum ever talk to you, by the way? She was going to get you to have a chat with Bobby, she thought you might be able to get through to him a bit.”

“Oh, that.” Callum looked even more embarrassed, if that were even possible.

“What? I know he’s a moody sod at the moment, but it might be worth a go...”

“It’s not that...She already asked me but I said no. Thought it might be awkward because of, well...” He waggled a finger back and forth between the two of them until Ben cottoned on.

Oh, great. So not only had Ben been sabotaging his own love life, leaving himself miserable and Callum moping around the Square with an expression like his dog had just died - better for him in the long run though, Ben just had to keep hanging on to that fact - but he’s possibly managed to screw things up for Bobby in the process as well. It’s so on brand he almost laughed.

“Don’t be daft, mate,” said Ben, managing to sound a lot more cheerful than he felt. “I think you should do it if you want to. He probably won’t speak to you either, but it’s worth a shot.”

“Bobby’s not doing so well, then?”

Ben threw his hands out to the sides in a gesture of defeat. “Absolute nightmare. I mean, I know it’s tough coming out the nick, god knows _I_ know that, but he’s walking around like a zombie or something. It’s like he’s still inside, in his head, you know?”

Then he froze as his brain caught up with his ears.

Did Callum _know_? Ben had already suspected the gossips of Walford had filled him in on all of Ben’s history, he was working in the pub for goodness’ sake and Ben had watched him make friends with Lola, Jay, Whitney, everyone who knew all the sordid details but there was always that chance... But no. Callum hadn’t reacted at all, not a flicker had crossed his face. He clearly already knew.

“How old were you?” asked Callum quietly.

“Which time?” said Ben. There was no reaction again, shit. He clearly knew everything then.

Callum raised his eyes, meeting Ben’s. The air between them was calm and still, not the fire and simmering tension it had been so often before, and Ben couldn’t quite work out why. “Either,” said Callum with a shrug.

Ben drummed his fingers on the desk for a moment before giving up and answering the question. “Fourteen when I got out the first time, just turned eighteen the second time.” He couldn’t bear Callum’s face, the way his eyes were soft, looking at him with compassion, so he went on, “I recommend it, ya know. If you’re into cock and looking for an education, there’s nowhere better - the things I learned inside, it’d make your eyes water. All that pent-up testosterone flying about, and talk about creative--"

“Ben,” he said, firm and looking annoyed. “Why do you do that? Turn it into a joke?”

“Who says I’m joking?”

Callum didn’t reply, just looked hard at him for a moment.

Ben stared at the far wall of the Portacabin, wondering how he got into the conversation and why he didn’t seem to be able to get out of it. “You really wanna know what it was like?”

Callum nodded.

“First time round...I couldn’t wait to get out. Cos I was just a kid, and I didn’t really believe any of it was happening. So I’d wake up every day those first couple of months and think _this_ was the day they’d come in and say ‘it was all a mistake, you’re free to go, Ian and Jane are here to take you home...’ But then when I did get out, I couldn’t cope. I didn’t know who I was any more. See, there’s _rules_ inside, there’s a twisted kind of logic to everything, you can predict how the day’s gonna go.

“Second time round...I almost didn’t wanna leave. Cos I knew I deserved to be there. I had a life in there, kind of. And I knew life weren’t gonna make any sense once I was back on the outside. An’ I reckon that might be where Bobby is right now. Cos once you’re back in the real world, there’s no more rules, no more logic to anything. You’ve just gotta make it up as you go the best you can. Get it wrong and everything can spiral out of control before you’ve even blinked.” He finally clammed up at that, his brain managing at last to overrule his mouth and stop it running on.

He wasn’t even sure what he was thinking about with the last statement - Paul? Heather? Abi? His dad, all those times Ben’s screwed up and disappointed him? Or maybe even Callum himself - you didn’t run into people like Callum inside, there was no need to protect your heart against warm smiles and sincere eyes.

His heart fell a little as he watched Callum’s reaction; he looked uncomfortable, fidgeting in his chair. “Maybe you should be the one talking to Bobby,” he said with a slightly nervous chuckle.

“I’ve tried. He don’t wanna know,” said Ben quietly, his throat tight while his mind wrestled with itself, wondering why he was disappointed. How had he wanted Callum to react, exactly? He _wanted_ him to keep his distance, remember? To give up on Ben and move on?

“I ain’t too good at the touchy feely stuff anyway,” Ben added. “Apparently I make inappropriate jokes. Or I have _occasionally_ been known to throw a bit of a diva tantrum and storm off if someone gets a bit too close.” He made a face and said it jokingly, but he was letting his guard down, willing Callum to understand. He’d regret it later no doubt, but he’d been suddenly gripped by fear at the thought of Callum pulling away from him and walking out, losing this new understanding they’d got to, whatever it meant.

Callum seemed to get the reference, and to Ben’s relief and joy the beaming grin began to creep back onto his face. “Really?” he said dryly, head on one side. “I dunno though, think you might be better than you think you are.”

“Well, that really goes to show you don’t know me at all.”

They smiled at each other and Ben’s racing thoughts began to slow. Maybe he _could_ have this. Would it really be so bad?

What would happen, his treacherous brain began to wonder, if he rose from his chair, came around the desk and straddled Callum’s lap, pulling his face towards him for a kiss? Would he respond? Would he push Ben away? He had last night, but of course he had, Callum was a good guy and Ben had been completely legless - he wasn’t the sort to take advantage of someone in that state.

Callum knew the worst, after all. He knew everything, by the sounds of it. He’d _seen_ Ben at his worst too, drunk and bruised, full of bile and anger. And yet he’d still come here with doughnuts and coffee and soft smiles and was now sitting there with a look in his eyes that was causing Ben’s heartbeat to speed up and his breath to get shallower.

It couldn’t last, Ben knew that, but would it really be so bad to pretend for a while...?

Ben removed one foot from where it had been resting on his knee and placed it on the ground, preparing to push himself forward and out of his chair. Callum swallowed, his eyes tracking every one of Ben’s movements.

There was a knock at the Portacabin door that startled them both, followed by a middle-aged bloke opening it and sticking his head inside.

“Hiya. Was wondering about that Vauxhall you’ve got out the front there?”

“Of course, mate,” said Ben, slipping straight into sales mode and choking down both the disappointment and the relief. The customer had great timing, he’d give him that; the fantasy that had been filling his mind a moment before, pushing rational thoughts aside, would definitely have been a _spectacularly_ bad idea. “Let’s take a look.”

Callum also rose from his chair, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “I’ll see you later, yeah? Thanks for the chat.”

* * *

Jay found him there a couple of hours later, feet up on the desk, staring vacantly into space.

“I knew you weren’t listening earlier.”

“Hmm?” Ben dragged his mind reluctantly away from a fantasy involving a hotel room far away from Walford, a long, uninterrupted weekend, maybe some handcuffs and a pair of soft eyes turning hard, flinty, commanding, like the forceful figure he’d seen back at Pride - there was no harm in fantasising as long as you weren’t going to act on it, right? - to focus on his annoyed looking brother.

“Lunch, Ben. In the Vic?”

“Oh, right.” Ben pulled himself back to the here and now and was slightly horrified when he caught sight of the clock on the wall, revealing just how long he’d been lost in his fantasies. “Not really that hungry, Jay...” His stomach growled, belying the lie.

“Yeah, well, I am. I fancy a decent pint and a pie, and that Callum bloke they’ve got doing food there now does great chips. Come on.”

Ben watched him warily while he got to his feet and pulled his jacket on, wondering if Jay was fishing for a reaction; but no, the remark seemed entirely innocent. He winced as they left the Portacabin and the sun hit his still sensitive eyes.

Jay chuckled as Ben pulled out his keys and started to lock up. “Blimey, mate, you can’t still be hanging? What on earth were you drinking last night?”

“Don’t ask.”

“I see there’s a sold sticker on the Vauxhall...”

“Yeah, told you we’d shift it, you need to have more faith, bruv...”

They fell into their easy, familiar banter as they walked away between the cars, Ben’s whole body relaxing as it always did around Jay, the one person he never needed to put on the front with - then it tensed again, a shock running through him. As they’d left the car lot and prepared to turn left towards the Vic, he’d had a clear view down the Square and had seen a familiar figure at the far end.

Jay instantly noticed the tension and turned his head to follow Ben’s gaze. “Is that Ritchie?”

“Yeah,” said Ben. His father’s lawyer was getting into her car parked outside the back door of the Mitchell house.

“Never bodes well, does it?” said Jay as they started walking again. “Trouble with the Old Bill, you reckon?”

Ben shrugged. “Dunno. Dad and me still ain’t exactly on friendly terms these days.” If it was anything to do with the Arches or the money laundering, the sides of the business he was involved with, Phil would probably have told him - or at least shouted at him to keep his head down and his nose out of trouble until the police stopped sniffing round. This was probably something else; maybe Phil was simply sorting out some paperwork or setting up trust funds for the new babies. But for some reason it was causing a bad feeling in his stomach. Jay was right. Ritchie usually spelled trouble of some sort.

Ben glanced back over his shoulder as he approached the Vic doors, but the lawyer was gone.

* * *

“So...” said Jay, once they’d ordered some food, got their drinks and settled themselves at a table near the fireplace. “I spoke to Pam. I didn’t call her, she called me,” he added hastily, seeing the look on Ben’s face. “Had a question about the books.”

Ben stared at his bottled lager, really not able to face any more of this. It was only lunchtime and he felt like he’d already had a year’s worth of deep and meaningful conversation today. He wondered if he could get away with binning off the rest of the day’s work and crawling under a duvet for five hours instead.

“She asked about you,” Jay went on. “Don’t worry, I lied. Said you were doing fine. Didn’t mention any of--” He waved a hand vaguely around Ben’s face, taking in the bruises and the hangover, and Ben gave him the worst glare he could muster with the little energy he had left. “She also said it was tomorrow. The anniversary.”

“Anniversary of what?” said Ben, going for flippant, hoping Jay of all people would know this meant he needed to back off a bit. Ben was tired, just so bloody tired of all of this. Nice to know someone cared, but none of them knew what it was like or what he was feeling; that gaping hole at the middle of his chest, the knowledge that _it should have been him_. He didn’t need to talk about it. It wasn’t going to do any good.

“So what’s the plan?” said Jay, ignoring this. “Need me to open up the car lot tomorrow so you can crawl into a bottle of whisky for the day, or is it out your system now?”

“Said, didn’t I?” said Ben, teeth clenched.

“I’m just checking.” Jay peered at him, then reached out with a fist, clouting him in a friendly way on the shoulder. They had been closer once; Jay would have thought nothing of reaching out and giving him a proper hug, or placing a gentle hand around the back of his neck. But then Ben had run off to that ferry last year, ignoring Jay’s pleads for him not to go, and nothing had been quite the same since he’d got back. One of the best things in his life and he’d managed to screw that up too. “You know I’m here for you, mate?” Jay went on. “Whatever you need.”

“What I _need_ is for you to leave me alone. And maybe a hunk with a six-pack who’s hung like a horse.” He tacked the thought on because he knew it would work, and he was rewarded as he knew he would be, Jay screwing up his face in distaste and looking away.

“Yes, thank you.” Jay stared at the other side of the pub for a moment before looking back. “Speaking of which...is it just Paul that all this has been about?”

“What do you mean?”

“Wanna tell me what’s been going on with tall, dark and dorky over there?” Jay nodded his head in the direction of a table on the other side of the bar where Callum was serving lunches, apron on and beaming at the customers as he carefully set down plates in front of them.

“Dorky?” said Ben, indignant. Then his shoulders slumped as he realised too late just how offended he’d sounded on Callum’s behalf.

Jay was smirking at him. “Wow, you have got it bad, haven’t you?”

“I’ll kill Lola,” Ben muttered.

“Weren’t Lola,” said Jay. “Well, okay, maybe she said something, but I’ve got eyes, Ben. Every time he’s serving in here you can’t stop staring at ‘im, and I might as well be talking Welsh for the amount of attention you pay to me. And besides, I _know_ you. Didn’t think it was any of my business, that’s all. You really like him, don’t you?”

“Don’t matter,” said Ben, as good as admitting it. He’d never been able to hide anything from Jay, not the things that mattered. “Wouldn’t work, Jay. Look at him - he’s the settling down type, ain’t he? And I’m me.” He gave a dark chuckle, reaching for his lager. “He don’t need me messing up his life.”

“Yeah, fair enough,” said Jay. He picked up his pint and took a long sip while Ben stared at him. “What, did you expect me to argue with ya? He’s a decent bloke. _And_ he’s a Hammers fan. I don’t want you messing up his life neither.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” said Ben, relieved, a little amused, and extremely pissed off. Relieved because at least _someone_ was taking him seriously and understood that Callum was too good for someone like Ben; pissed off because if the _one_ person you thought would always have your back thinks you’re not good enough for the bloke currently tying your stomach in knots and setting your heart on fire, what hope have you got...?

Life on his own had been complicated, but in some ways it had been so much simpler than being here in Walford, having to deal with the one person in his life who knew him better than he knew himself, always on his shoulder like Jiminy flaming Cricket.

Jay put his pint back down, licking his lips free of the foam and rolling his eyes at Ben’s expression. “Go on then, why d’ya think you’re gonna mess it up?”

Ben shrugged. “It’s what I do, ain’t it.”

“Based on what, exactly? I mean, have I missed something here, mate, cos I’ve known you practically your whole life, certainly ever since you stopped pretending to be into girls to make Phil happy, and you’ve had pretty much one real relationship in that whole time. And yeah, it ended kind of shit, I ain’t...” He sighed. “I ain’t trying to dismiss that, I was there, all right? It was rough. But that weren’t your _fault_ , Ben, that were the fault of the bastards that killed him.”

“Thanks, bruv,” said Ben, his voice dripping with as much sarcasm as he could cram into it. “Good talk.”

Jay gave him what Ben always thought of as his classic Jay face, the one that said ‘you’re my brother and I love you but you’re a plank’. “Look, you know I just want you to be happy. It’s all I’ve ever wanted. No one’s saying you have to marry the bloke, but if you like him, you could at least go for a drink with him or summat. Why d’ya have to make everything so complicated?”

“Oh, and you’re the expert on simple, are ya?” snapped Ben. “Tell me, how is Lola these days?”

“Um...” They both looked up in surprise to find Callum had approached their table, looking shy, a plate of food in each hand. “Who’s, uh, having the burger?”

Ben waved a silent hand to claim it while Jay relaxed in his chair, greeting his pie and chips with happy noises.

“All right, son?” he said to Callum. “Mate, I’ve been dreaming of this all morning, you’ve no idea. We were just saying how the grub in here’s improved since you’ve been ‘ere...”

He kicked Ben under the table, nowhere near as surreptitiously as he thought it was, and Ben grunted.

“ _He_ might have said that, can’t say I’ve noticed any difference myself...” He glanced up at Callum from under his eyelashes, keeping his tone light, and was pleased to see Callum blushed yet again when he caught his eye.

“That’s really kind of you, thanks,” said Callum to Jay, carefully ignoring Ben’s comment.

“You got a night off at all this weekend?” said Jay, sprinkling salt on his chips, and Callum blinked in surprise.

“Uh, I’m not working Saturday?”

“Fancy a night out? E20? I haven’t been out in a while, feel like letting off a bit of steam if you’re up for it?”

Ben stared at him in horror, realising what he was up to. He aimed a well-placed kick under the table in retaliation, but Jay didn’t even flinch as he chatted away to Callum.

Callum’s eyes flickered only briefly over to Ben before he smiled and agreed happily to the invitation.

“Great! I’m sure we can round up a few more - maybe Whitney, Lola...Ben, you’ll come out with us, right?” Jay turned far too innocent eyes on his brother, who was strongly considering whether it might be worth a third stint in prison for fratricide, and whether any jury would _really_ convict him considering the provocation.

Ben opened his mouth; then his attention was caught by a sight at the far end of the pub. His father had just walked in with purpose, catching Shirley’s eye from behind the bar and pulling her over to one side for what looked like a very intense conversation.

It’s not the first time he’s seen them together this week, they were heads together in the café about something yesterday as well. Ritchie at the house, whispered conversations with Shirley...every instinct in Ben’s gut is telling him Phil’s up to something. He can’t allow himself to get distracted by Callum, not if something’s going on. He needs to remember The Plan.

But today’s been a good day; he’s been spending time with Callum without trying to pretend they’re just mates or that he can keep away from him, and it’s been easier. If they could do it again and manage to stay away from the heavier topics, it might even be fun. The thought of spending an evening together, a few drinks with friends, other people around to keep that tension from building up again, help figure out what’s going on between them...it’s too tempting.

“Sure,” he hears himself say. “Let’s do it. Saturday night.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the long gap between chapters - not really had any time for writing between some real life stuff going on and a lot of weather-induced migraines. No guarantees for the next few chapters either sorry, but I do promise not to abandon this story - one way or another, it will get finished!

**Saturday 20 July 2019**

Phil Mitchell.

He was one of the more regular of the Queen Vic regulars, but unlike most of the others he’d never introduced himself to Callum with a cheery smile or a handshake in those first weeks. It had been some time before Callum had worked out that the bald fella nursing an orange juice in the corner, reading a newspaper by himself most days, was actually Ben’s father.

He’d pegged the alcoholic part for himself, long before he knew who Phil was; that part of Ben’s story hadn’t come as a surprise. No one’s that fond of orange juice. But it wasn’t just that, or the red-veined cheeks or the yellowish tinge to the skin or any of the other tell-tale signs of the long-term drinker. It was something in the eyes. He’d reminded Callum of Jonno the first time he’d ever seen him, that first weekend on shift, and the feeling only got stronger as the weeks passed.

The difference was of course that Phil seemed to have conquered his demons. Day in, day out, orange juice was all he ever ordered and he drank it with every sign of enjoyment. Callum had wondered about him though, even before he knew who he was; the solitary figure with his paper, never passing the time of day with the other regulars. He knew men like that, from the pubs his father and brother would drag him to, back in the day. The lone drinkers, not there for the company or the atmosphere, but there to down a few pints while they read their newspapers in peace before staggering off home.

But they were there for the booze, every last one of them. If you’re an alcoholic in recovery, why would you surround yourself with temptation every day? There were enough cafes and coffee shops around for Phil to read his paper in solitary silence. But day after day, he returned to the Vic and ordered his orange juice. Other customers tended to give him a wide berth, Callum had noticed. He was sometimes there with his wife, Sharon, sometimes his daughter and her boyfriend, and occasionally he sat down for a drink with Shirley Carter - they seemed to be friends - but whether anyone else was with him or not, he came through the doors five or six days out of seven.

Never with Ben though. It had taken Callum a while to notice that one, but once you spotted it, it was glaringly, heartbreakingly obvious.

It was in his mind now, as he sat in the bar of the Vic early on Saturday morning, nursing a cup of tea and staring at an old copy of the _Walford Gazette_ without really seeing it. Phil Mitchell had been the main topic of conversation in the Carter kitchen this morning.

Tina had never come home last night, as happened from time to time - she’d probably pulled and good for her - so Shirley seemed to think this was as good a time as any to drop her bombshell. Possibly she hadn’t noticed Callum was there, nibbling away on a bit of toast at the kitchen table. He hadn’t entirely worked out what his relationship with Shirley was, to be honest. She didn’t seem to quite know what to make of him. They’d reached a place now where she mostly treated him as a piece of movable furniture, though one she occasionally needed to yell at for getting under her feet.

This was probably why she hadn’t factored him in when she announced to a stunned Mick and Linda in the kitchen that morning her intention to withdraw from the Queen Vic and to go and work for - _with_ , sorry - Phil Mitchell instead.

Their reactions had been somewhat different. Linda had all but started doing cartwheels around the room, figuratively speaking, and had had to be forcibly held back from running off to go and get some champagne with a reminder that it was only half eight in the morning. Mick looked distinctly less thrilled.

“ _Phil_ , though,” he kept saying, rubbing a worried chin. “Phil Mitchell. Are you sure about this, Mother?”

“I’m a big girl, Mick, I do know what I’m doing...”

“Yeah, but _Phil Mitchell_ , though. We run this place legit, any trouble comes to our door--”

“I’m telling you, there won’t be any.”

Eventually, Callum had slipped out of the kitchen all but unnoticed and made his way downstairs, feeling as though he’d been intruding on private family business, even though he’d hardly asked to be part of the conversation. He liked the bar in the mornings when it was empty though, it was quiet and peaceful, a stark contrast to when the pub was open and full of life.

He'd mistimed it this morning though, the cleaners were in. Just Kat and Mo again. The younger one, Stacey, hadn’t been seen for a few weeks. Linda suspected there’d been some sort of falling out and, being Linda, had tried to get to the bottom of it, but falling out or no, the Slater family seemed to be a tight-knit bunch and had closed ranks, telling her nothing.

“All right, darling?” said Kat now as she came round the side of the bar and spotted Callum there. “Just the floors to do then we’ll be out of your hair. Tell ya what though, we should be on danger money for what we’ve just had ta deal with in the gents’ khazis. When will you blokes ever learn how to aim your weapons, eh?” She cackled and Callum gave a weak laugh in reply.

He was never quite sure how to respond to Kat, all cleavage and make up and larger than life personality - or the rest of her family come to that. They seemed like kind-hearted, honest, hard-working people and he liked them, but was also a little...terrified of them, to be frank, and tended to avoid them at times when he knew they were in cleaning. He knew logically that their banter and innuendos and filthy chuckles weren’t aimed directly at him, but the sound of their laughter from the other side of a door seemed to reach down somewhere primal, deep within his soul, and flip a switch from younger days. It was a different Halfway, hiding behind a silly hat and bowl haircut, hoping desperately not to be noticed, that fled out of the door when he heard it with an excuse to pop to the Minute Mart or get breakfast in the caff.

Kat heaved herself on to a bar stool with a sigh, rolling her shoulders and stretching out her neck, apparently in no hurry to finish the floors and get going, and looked at Callum thoughtfully. “You all right, darling? Penny for ‘em. Lost a bet?” She peered closer. “Oh no, don’t tell me. Dumped, is it?” She said it sadly, as though she were genuinely sorry for him, and Callum immediately needed to reassure her.

“Oh no, nothing like that. I were just...thinking.”

“Well, don’t strain yourself, luv.” The cackle was back. “Far too early in the morning for that, you could hurt yourself...”

Callum looked sideways at her, a thought occurring. “Kat...you’ve lived round here a long time, haven’t you?”

“Oi, cheeky monkey,” she said with another laugh. “Less of the long time, thanks! I’m in me prime. But yeah, on and off.”

“What do you know about Phil Mitchell?”

Something flashed across her eyes, though she did her best to disguise it, straightening up on her stool and keeping her face carefully blank. It had looked a lot like fear.

“Why d’ya want to know?”

“Oh, well...” Callum shrugged, trying to think how to make it sound like a casual, everyday question to which he didn’t really care about the answer, and realising too late there was probably _no way_ he could do that. “I’ve heard some rumours, I was just wondering.”

He definitely wasn’t imagining the fear now, as Kat got down from her bar stool, her eyes flashing with what looked like panic and anger. “What rumours? What has Shirley said? I’ll kill her.” The last three words were said under her breath, clearly not directed towards Callum, and he began to flap, completely lost as to what was going on.

“What? No! Shirley hasn’t said anything! This was some of the regulars, I was just--” He was floundering, totally confused as to how the conversation seemed to have spun out of control but having visions of being trapped between a vengeful Shirley on one side and Kat on the other, two of the most terrifying women he’d ever met.

He was rescued by the most unlikely of heroes, as Mo Harris suddenly popped up from behind the bar, leopard-print tabard on, mop and bucket in hand, lopsided grin on her face. “It’s all right Kat, it’s cos he’s poking Mini Mitchell, ain’t he?” She nodded towards Callum. “I saw ‘em together the other night, that’s why he wants ta know about Phil.”

Heat flooding into his face, Callum opened his mouth to protest - then promptly closed it again. She wasn’t entirely off the mark, was she? And it was better that they thought that than he found himself in the middle of whatever was going on with Kat and Shirley; he was completely in the dark as to what that was all about, but it didn’t seem like something he wanted to be involved in.

“Is that right?” said Kat, still looking wary. “That’s why you wanted to know?”

“Well...” Callum cleared his throat. He never thought he’d be grateful for his blush, but it looked like it might have saved his bacon today; he knew his cheeks were flaming bright red, and Kat was visibly relaxing. “Um, not exactly...I mean...”

Mo’s cackle rang out around the empty pub. “Told ya. He’s banging Phil’s blue-eyed boy, look at ‘is face!”

“Would’ve thought whatshisname, pretty boy, you know - Keanu - was the blue-eyed boy,” said Kat, chuckling herself. Clearly she was happy to buy this explanation without further questioning.

“Well, the black sheep then,” said Mo.

 _I am still here, you know_ , Callum just about managed to stop himself from saying, a burst of anger blooming in his chest at the way they were talking about him as though he wasn’t even there - and the way they were talking about Ben. Black sheep? What gave them the right?

“Well, good on ya, luv,” said Kat happily, leaning against the bar as Mo vanished to the kitchens to fill the bucket. “Talk about convenient - no need for Grindr if you can just hop across the road, eh?”

“Honestly, it’s not like that,” he said, wondering why he was bothering. Anything he said at this point was just going to sound like a lie. And even if he was feeling inclined to explain his complicated feelings about Ben to a woman he barely knew - not that he ever would - where would he even start?

“So what do ya want to know about Phil?” Kat asked, pulling a cloth out of the pocket of her tabard and giving the bar a half-hearted wipe while she waited for Mo. It had clearly already been cleaned and polished, but perhaps she just wanted something to do with her hands; Callum could sympathise. She suddenly looked up and gave Callum a sharp glare. “He’s not giving you and Ben grief, is he? Just tell him to shove off if he is. If he ain’t over Ben being gay by now, darling, then you tell your boyfriend not to waste another breath on the old git--”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” said Callum hurriedly, needing to shut that one down asap before it got back to Ben. He took a breath and went on, “It’s not that. I was just wondering...people around here talk about Phil like he’s some kind of, I don’t know, gangster or something--” He let out a little laugh on the word ‘gangster’ to indicate how ridiculous he knew it to be. “--and I just wanted to know...” He let the sentence trail off.

Kat frowned at him, puzzled, before her face cleared and she let out a short bark of laughter. “What, you’re worried you’re gonna wake up one morning with a horse’s head in yer bed?”

Callum flushed but didn’t back down, meeting her eyes. He’d come this far and endured enough humiliation during this conversation in search of answers. “Is there any truth to any of it?”

She looked at him for a long moment, head on one side, before breaking into a grin, revealing crooked white teeth. “Well, he ain’t gonna be making you an offer you can’t refuse any time soon, sweetheart,” she mocked in a passable New York accent. “But yeah. You don’t wanna get on the wrong side of him, put it that way. And you definitely don’t wanna owe him money. And if you’re asking me if you’re better off staying away from that whole family and their dodgy dealings...well, that’s up to you. Most people round here’ll tell you the Mitchells are trouble, though. Mit _chells_ ,” she added, emphasis on the second syllable. “All of ‘em. Oh, there you are!”

Mo had finally returned with a full bucket, walking gingerly as it threatened to slop over the sides.

“How long does it take?” hissed Kat, greeting her with a look of relief. “Nip off for a quick pint or two halfway through, did ya?”

“Give me a chance, I’m an old woman, ain’t I?” pleaded Mo. “I didn’t see you lifting a finger to help!”

Callum left them to it, their bickering fading away behind him as he ascended the Vic staircase, his head heavy with thought.

* * *

Twelve or more hours later, a couple of bottles of beer, loud music and good company were helping to clear his mind of all thoughts. Jay had managed to persuade Lola and Whitney to come out with them as he’d promised, and they were having a fun night of drinking and dancing.

Ben had turned up too, despite Callum’s slight suspicion that he might find an excuse. He wasn’t stupid, he’d seen Ben’s face when Jay suggested the night out - and he hadn’t missed Jay’s less than subtle motivation for suggesting it either - yet here Ben was, in a shiny shirt very similar to the one he’d worn the night he’d first met Callum all those weeks ago. He’d greeted Callum on arrival with what, bizarrely, looked something like a shy and welcoming smile, but a drink or two later Callum had all but convinced himself he’d imagined it.

The four of them - Callum, Ben, Jay and Lola - were crammed into one of the booths that lined the walls of the club, looking on avidly as Whitney curled a few strands of her bright red hair around the fingers of one hand, smiling up into the eyes of a tall, dark-haired man by the bar.

“Guess we’ve lost Whitney for the night then,” said Jay dryly as Whitney threw back her head and laughed, placing one hand on the man’s arm.

“Give her a break!” said Lola, giving him a small shove. “She deserves to meet someone nice after what happened with the last bloke.”

Callum looked up in surprise. “Why, what happened with the last bloke?” He liked Whitney a lot, she was warm and funny and one of the kinder people he’d met since moving here. He didn’t like the idea that she’d had her heart broken recently, she’d mentioned nothing to him.

“Oh, you don’t wanna know.” Lola shuddered.

“Whitney Dean has the worst taste in men of anyone you will ever meet.” The voice was Ben’s, dry and sarcastic. “Never single for more than five seconds neither, she ricochets from bloke to bloke like a pinball.”

“Harsh, Ben,” said Jay, a note of reproof in his voice as he held his brother’s gaze.

Ben shrugged. “Am I wrong?” He leaned back in the booth, and in doing so pressed his leg closer to Callum’s, who tried to ignore the wave of heat that flooded through him at the contact. “See the thing about people like Whitney is, they’re romantics. She still thinks Prince Charming is out there, so she lurches from disaster to disaster, rushing in cos she thinks she’s found Mr Right when he’s usually Mr Couldn’t Be More Wrong.”

“Give it a rest, Ben,” snapped Lola. “Relationships don’t always work out, that happens to everyone. Don’t mean ya stop trying though.” There was an odd note in her voice and she threw a quick glance in Jay’s direction as she spoke, just the tiniest movement of her eyes, easy to miss. Callum wondered, not for the first time, exactly what was going on there.

An awkward silence descended over the group as Ben shrugged and reached for his drink, the rest of them left with their own thoughts. It was broken by Whitney rushing back to their table, glowing and happy.

“All right? Anyone for another drink?” She peered at them in concern as she pulled up a seat. “Blimey, who died? Everyone all right?”

“Yeah, just us four sad singletons feeling jealous,” said Lola, covering with a jovial tone. “Get his number then?”

Whitney flushed, the club lighting making colourful patterns over her face. “We swapped numbers. He’s gonna text me tomorrow.”

“Ooh, get you,” said Lola, sounding genuinely pleased for her. “Fast work!”

“Here’s to this one not turning out to be an axe murderer, eh?” said Ben, upbeat tone at odds with the words, raising his glass in a sarcastic facsimile of a toast.

He may have meant it as a joke, but it fell with a thud, Jay and Callum both wincing, Lola fixing him with a glare.

Whitney narrowed her eyes at him, her lips becoming a thin line. “Well, at least I’m gonna ask for his real name and go on a few dates before I decide whether to sleep with him.”

It was a dig, but it seemed to delight Ben. He’d been slightly subdued since arriving at the club, drinking a single bottle of beer in near silence, but he woke up now, shifting forward in the booth and leaning over the table at Whitney’s words.

“Least my way’s honest, darlin’,” he said, eyes glinting. “Everyone upfront about exactly what they’re after, no one deluding themselves into thinking fairytales are real and Happy Ever Afters exist...”

“Ben!” snapped Lola, just as Jay said, “Oh, ignore him Whit, he’s been in a snit all week, he’s just being a dick for no reason.”

Callum hadn’t spoken, too slow off the mark, not sure what to say, beginning to feel a bit left out in this group of people who’d known each other since they were kids. He tried to send a reassuring smile in Whitney’s direction but she wasn’t looking at him, her attention all on Ben, the air simmering between them.

That feline smile appeared on Ben’s face again, the one that always made Callum torn between wanting to kiss him and wanting to smack him. “I’m just saying it like it is. Who knows _anyone_ whose relationships have worked out round here? Anyone? I mean...” He began to laugh, a hollow sound. “...look at my mum and dad! Look at Ian! More weddings between them than a Vegas chapel.”

“Yeah, okay, maybe not the best examples,” said Jay.

“Oh, anyone got any better ones?”

“Bianca,” said Whitney firmly. “My step-mum,” she added for Callum’s benefit, turning to the side and smiling at him. “She and Terry are really happy. It ain’t always been easy, and they’ve had to work at it, but they’re really solid these days.”

“Aw, that’s lovely,” said Lola with warmth while Ben snorted.

“And how long’s that gonna last with Bianca’s track record...?”

“Yeah, but that’s what I’m _saying_ , Ben,” said Whitney, leaning forward, and Callum was taken aback by how earnest she looked. “Bee’s been screwed over so many times by so many blokes, but she never gave up and eventually it all worked out. You kiss enough frogs...”

Ben looked at her, eyebrows raised. “You’re telling me that whatshisname--”

“Terry.”

“--Terry is a Prince?”

“He is to Bianca.”

“There’s definitely no accounting for taste.”

“Pam and Les,” said Jay, out of nowhere, and Ben looked at him, taken aback.

“What?”

“Pam and Les! They’ve been together like, what, fifty years? No drama, no divorces, still going strong.”

Ben scratched the back of his head, looking discomfited. Callum watched him out of the corner of his eye; the trouble with being side by side in the booth was that he couldn’t look too long without it being obvious that he was staring, but Ben had clearly been put on edge by something after being relaxed, almost gleeful during his back-and-forth with Whitney. Callum wondered vaguely who Pam and Les were.

“Round here, I said,” said Ben eventually. He was looking down at his hands, the fingers of his right hand playing absent-mindedly with the ring on his left. “They moved away.”

“Oh, there speaks a man who knows he’s lost the argument,” said Jay with delight.

“I _ain’t_ lost the argument, I said ‘round here’ and they don’t count--”

“I think,” said Callum slowly, and the other occupants of the table all looked at him in surprise. Perhaps after sitting in silence throughout their conversation they’d all but forgotten he was there. “I think Whitney and Lola are right. Sometimes things don’t work out, but that’s no reason not to try, is it? You never know what’s gonna happen. It would be like never leaving the house because you might get run over or something. You’d be safe, but it ain’t exactly living, is it?” He stopped, embarrassed, and reached for his beer bottle. “Anyway, that’s what I think.”

“Exactly,” said Lola.

“See, _Callum_ gets it,” said Whitney with emphasis, using her cocktail glass to point at Ben.

Callum risked a glance up to find Lola smiling at him and Jay giving him a wink. Ben was ignoring him completely though. He’d taken the ring off his left hand and was making it spin on the table in front of him, apparently transfixed as it spun round, flashing under the changing colours of the club lights.

“Ooh, I love this song,” shrilled Lola as the track changed, leaping to her feet. “Who’s dancing? Jay?”

“Yeah, all right.” He followed her in sliding out of the booth. “Guess I could show ya how it’s done. Whitney? Callum?”

Callum didn’t fail to notice how Lola’s face fell, just a little, as Jay invited others to join them, and he declined the invitation with a wave of his half-full bottle of beer. Whitney seemed blind to the subtext however, or just didn’t want to be left stuck at a table with a grumpy looking Ben, and she joined the others on the dance floor.

They sat in silence for a moment, Ben still spinning his ring on the table, Callum taking a swig from his beer bottle before setting it down and beginning to pick at the label. The paper was crumbling into pieces under his fingers where condensation had made it damp and he ended up having to wipe them on his trousers to get some of the little white bits off.

“So, how are you doing after, um?” Callum waved a hand to encompass Ben’s face where the bruises were beginning to fade to a sickly yellow.

“I’ll live.” The ring finally ceased its endless spinning as Ben slammed a hand down on it, then he glanced back up at Callum, pushing the ring back onto his finger. “Thanks again for all that.”

Callum shrugged. “Like I said, only did what anyone else would have done.”

Ben’s mouth twisted into a not-quite-a smile. “Right. And what you would have done _for_ anyone else, yeah?”

Callum met his eyes for a moment before having to look away. An image flashed into his head of meeting Mo Harris or Kat Slater in that condition. Would he have got them home, made sure they were safe, didn’t choke on their own vomit or bash their brains out tripping over the kerb on the way? Yes, of course he would have. Made them toast, iced their bruises, sat patiently and caringly with them while they rambled on about past loves, tucked them up into bed? There was an obvious answer to that and Ben knew it. He turned back to Ben, a smile hovering around his lips, and they shared a brief and conspiratorial grin.

“And how are you feeling?” asked Callum. “About, you know--” he dropped his voice as far as he could to still be heard over the loud dance music “--Paul and everything?”

Ben grimaced. “Could we not? Could we just, like, I dunno, enjoy a night out without the grief counselling, without the bonding over our dead boyfriends for once?”

“Yeah, of course,” said Callum, taken aback. “I was just...of course, sorry.”

Ben shifted his gaze to the dance floor and Callum did likewise, where Jay was giving a demonstration of what looked suspiciously like dad dancing for a bloke in his twenties, Lola and Whitney both in fits of laughter as he held his arms up and attempted to wiggle his hips. When Ben spoke again it was in a very different tone, much lighter than he’d been all evening, a grin on his face as he watched the dance floor.

“So I hear you’re joining us for lunch tomorrow?”

Callum nodded. He’d had a text from Kathy earlier that day inviting him, to his astonishment. He hadn’t been able to think of a valid excuse to say no, and the real reason that he’d rather not go - that it was a bit awkward, and a bit weird, and what made her think that Bobby was any more likely to speak to him anyway, or that he’d be any use whatsoever if he did? - wasn’t really one he could put in a text. Besides, he knew that Kathy was probably going to just keep on asking if he fobbed her off this time.

“Yeah, hope that’s okay?” said Callum. “Your mum said she’d checked with you...” And if he was honest with himself, that was the other reason he had said yes. If Kathy had asked Ben in advance and Ben was fine with him being invited, what did that _mean_? And he’d come and found Callum off his own bat the other morning, and had given him what seemed like a genuine and sincere apology...

...and he was here, on this night out, dressed up for someone’s benefit and it certainly wasn’t Lola or Whitney or Jay’s...

Ben shrugged. “Course. Hope you know what you’re letting yourself in for, though. Bobby staring into space like a zombie, Lexi sulking cos Lola’s shouting at her to eat her greens, Mum being about as subtle as a brick trying to set you and me up - cos even if she _says_ it’s about getting you to talk to Bobby, I reckon there’s another reason she’s invited you, just to warn ya - and best of all, Ian giving us all a two hour lecture on how to cook the perfect roast potato. Except no, because you’re a chef too, he’s going to get all weird and competitive, so it’s going to be a three-hour lecture and involve gravy, too.”

Callum was laughing. “Sounds fun.”

Ben made a face at him.

“I mean it! I haven’t been to a family Sunday lunch in...” He thought about it. “...well, forever.” It’s not quite true. He went to Sunday lunch a few times with Chris’s family, and it was a thing Vicky often liked to do, a roast lunch on a Sunday with all the trimmings. It seemed like something from another world, another life though, a fantasy from another time, nothing to do with his life here in Walford or the world he’d grown up in. There was no Sunday roast in his house growing up. Sunday meant waking up later from last night’s hangover and maybe a bigger fry up, then back down the pub in time for kick off.

“Well, we’ll see if you’re still saying that when Ian’s dragged you into the kitchen to brag about how expensive his knives are.”

“Knives are important, Ben, you can’t cook without good knives.”

“Oh god, not another one!”

Callum laughed out loud at the exaggerated look of horror on Ben’s face, then Ben was laughing too, then they were both laughing, giggling uncontrollably until Callum could barely even remember what they were laughing about in the first place and he was pretty certain Ben was probably in the same boat. It wasn’t Ian and his knives, and it wasn’t the alcohol because they’d only had a beer or two each. It was something else. The tension that’s been sitting between them ever since the very first night they met had vanished somewhere, melted away like sherbet on the tongue.

Ben caught Callum’s eye before glancing away, still smiling. “It’s not too late to run, you know,” he said, and Callum wondered briefly if there was a double meaning to the words.

He knows it’s too late for him if there was. Has been for a while now. “I’m game if you are,” he said, and just about managed to stop his voice shaking as he said it. “Besides, not sure I’ve ever had the perfect roast potato, how could I turn that down?”

Ben groaned. “ _Don’t_ encourage him. You’re a chef, you sure you want to spend your day off getting lectured on cooking by my pompous idiot brother?”

“As long as I don’t have to _do_ the cooking, yeah!” Callum shouted back, over the music which seemed to be getting louder as the night wore on. “This could be my last day off for a while, anyway, what with Shirley leaving.”

And with that, the night was over, though he didn’t realise it until later. He did see the change in Ben’s expression though, the way his face shut down.

He kept his voice light though as he asked, “Shirley’s leaving? Taxman, is it? Or Old Bill? Off to hide out on the Costa del Sol?”

Callum chuckled, though he wasn’t feeling it, sensing that something had shifted. “Nah, nah, not leaving Walford, just the Vic.” He began to worry slightly as he said it - was it meant to be public knowledge yet? Linda was already making noises about a leaving party and Shirley hadn’t said it was meant to be private, but...

Ben nodded. “To do what?”

Callum swallowed, not knowing what to reply. But if it had been a secret, Shirley would have told them not to say anything, or made sure Callum wasn’t in the room when she said it. And everyone would surely know soon enough? “I’m not sure exactly. But I think she said something about working with your Dad?”

“Ah.” Ben’s face gave nothing away, but his fingers clenched tight around his empty beer bottle. After a moment of silence, he suddenly pulled away from Callum, shifting around the booth with sharp, jagged movements until he reached the edge and got to his feet.

“I’m getting a real drink, you want one?” He barely waited for the negative answer before vanishing in the direction of the bar, leaving Callum alone in the booth.

The rest of the night was something of a bust. Ben downed a couple of shots of whisky in morose silence before looking at his phone, declaring himself ‘sorted’ for the evening and getting up to leave. The disgust and derision that met this statement - and the sad and disappointed looks both Jay and Lola threw in Callum’s direction - indicated that the rest of the group had been taken in by it, but Callum wasn’t sure he was. There was no sharp pang of jealousy in his chest, only a faint ache of sadness. Maybe he was only fooling himself into thinking he was beginning to be able to read Ben a little better now, but he’d put money on Ben not being in anything like the mood for a hook up tonight. He was probably heading somewhere to drink in silence and wallow in whatever bad mood had come over him after Callum’s mention of Shirley and Phil, whatever that was all about.

Callum could kick himself. If only he could go back half an hour and take the words back, keep the mood heading in the same direction as it had been before. How might the evening had ended if he’d never said it...?

Whitney declared her intention to go not that long after Ben had left, and Callum leapt at the excuse to leave by walking her home. Perhaps she’d noticed what he had, that they both felt a bit surplus to requirements around Jay and Lola, who’d both had considerably more to drink than they had and were beginning to be very wrapped up in each other, laughing and giggling and barely noticing the others were still there.

They walked in silence for a bit once they’d left the club. It was one of those colder nights you sometimes get in July, with a hint of rain in the air, and Whitney shivered as they walked. Callum offered her his jacket but she refused with a laugh.

“We ain’t going far, are we?”

“’Spose not.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and glanced at her as they turned the corner under the railway viaduct into Bridge Street. “You gonna go out with that guy if he texts you?”

Whitney shrugged. “Yeah, why not? He seemed nice. You’ve gotta give things a try or you’d never do anything, like you said.” She fell silent for a moment, carefully navigating the dark street in her heels, before blurting out, “You can do better than Ben bloody Mitchell, ya know.”

He smiled the indulgent smile of the relatively sober talking to the fairly squiffy. “You’ve told me that before.”

“Well,” she said, a tad huffy. “Bears repeating. We’re talking frogs and princes, he’s _definitely_ a frog.”

“Hmm, way I remember the story,” said Callum, amused, “didn’t the frog turn out to be a Prince in the end?”

She stopped dead as he said this, a little unsteady on her heels, and put out a hand to clutch Callum’s upper arm - either to steady herself, or in concern for him, or maybe both. “Oh, honey. If you think you can change him, or like, save him from himself...I’ve been there. It never works. They start off as frogs, they _stay_ frogs, trust me.”

“I think this conversation’s got a little off track,” he gently suggested. “Shall we just keep walking? Come on.” He steered her to the end of the street and they turned the corner into the Square, staying close to the railings as they walked round.

“And he’s a Mitchell,” Whitney added with a touch of sullen attitude as they walked. “Mitchells _stay_ Mitchells.”

He smiled even as he wondered, deep down, what that meant, exactly. They reached number 31 on the end of the row and she started fishing around in her handbag, fumbling for her keys.

“You know, I do agree with you,” said Callum thoughtfully as she searched. “What we were talking about in the club. Ben seems to be a bit of a cynical git, I agree with you there - just because things might not work out, doesn’t mean you stop trying. But I do agree with Ben about one thing.”

Finally locating the keys, she stepped onto the porch and looked back at him. “What’s that?”

“Fairytales aren’t real.”

* * *

He rang the bell at the front door of number 45 when he arrived for lunch the next day. It didn’t feel right to simply knock on the back door, however insistent Ben had been that _no one uses the front_. Besides, a small part of him was beginning to develop a complex about that bloody back door, associating it strongly with Ben; being pulled through it in anticipation the night they first hooked up, being _pushed_ back through it a little rudely the following morning, attempting to manoeuvre a very drunk Ben through it the other evening. This was a family lunch, to which he’d been invited by Kathy to supposedly meet Bobby and see if the sullen teenager would be willing to talk to someone outside the family. Best to start off on the right foot, push all thoughts of Ben out of his mind.

He instantly failed of course.

As soon as Kathy had greeted him, taken his coat, thanked him for the chocolates, ushered him through to the living room and offered him a drink, the next words out of his mouth were:

“Ben not here?”

Her knowing look made him want to crawl under the sofa, curl up and die.

“He’s nipped round to see his Dad, he’ll be back in a minute. Lunch’ll be ready in about fifteen minutes, I’ll see if I can get Bobby to come down.”

Callum collapsed on to the sofa with a drink in hand, embarrassment still tinging his cheeks, as Kathy headed upstairs. Lola was occupying the other end of the sofa and she gave him a weak smile as he sat down.

“You look a bit rough,” he said with a laugh. “Take it that’s not hair of the dog, then?”

“Oh, don’t,” said Lola, gripping on to her mug of tea with white-knuckled fingers. “I’m never drinking again.”

“You and Jay stayed on a while after we left, then?”

“Hmm.”

Callum watched her for a second or two out of the corner of his eye before deciding to risk the question. “So what’s going on with you and Jay, then?”

“None of your business, you.” But she said it with good humour, not seeming to take offence. She gave him a sideways look, head resting against the back of the sofa. “Ya know, I think Ben was here when I got home last night. Not sure he really did have a date.”

He decided not to mention he’d thought the same. “None of your business, you.”

She grinned at him. “Fair enough.”

“Mummy’s ill,” piped up a small voice from the direction of the coffee table, and Callum glanced over to where Lexi was doing...something. He wasn’t entirely sure what it was meant to be, but it was certainly creative and seemed to involve stickers, glitter pens and fluorescent felt tips. She had definitely inherited her mother’s love of colour.

“Oh, is she?” said Callum, a little lost. He wasn’t entirely sure how to talk to small children, not having been around all that many of them in his life - not since he was one, anyway.

“Mummy’s ill,” Lexi repeated, still concentrating fiercely on her colourful creation, “and Daddy’s not here. I should have gone to the swings but no one would take me. Would you take me?” She finally looked up, her eyes piercing Callum’s with a direct look that reminded him uncannily of her father, and he floundered for a moment.

“Oh, um...”

“Lexi!” hissed Lola. “I’m so sorry, Callum... Lexi, you can’t ask just anybody to take you to the swings! Not without talking to me or your Dad.”

“But he’s not anybody,” said Lexi, with great calm. “He’s Daddy’s special friend, you said so.”

“I did not say that!” said Lola, her eyes wide and slightly panicked. Her tea sloshed as she scrambled upright, turning to Callum. “I didn’t...exactly say that.” She pushed herself off the sofa and dropped to her knees beside Lexi. “What have I told you, madam, about not repeating everything you hear?”

Callum leaned his head back on the sofa as Lola began a whispered conversation with her daughter, and he laughed to himself, his heart feeling light. Despite Ben’s warnings, and the nerves he had about potentially speaking to Bobby and not sharing Kathy’s belief it would do any good, he couldn’t help but feel cheerful in this pleasant house, full of delicious smells and people he liked.

Ian emerged from the kitchen just before Kathy came down the back stairs, greeting the three in the living room cheerfully. “Lunch will be ready in a bit, just a few more minutes on the veg. We’re still missing a few?” he added, turning to throw a frown at his mother.

Kathy came to sit down with a sigh. “Yeah, uh...I’m sure Bobby will join us in a moment.” She threw a concerned look and a weak smile in Callum’s direction, who nodded back. His hopes, already pretty low, plummeted even further for the chances of getting Bobby to talk to him, or him being any use if he did. He wondered again why he’d agreed to be here at all; but there was an obvious answer to that, and it was one that Ian raised with his next question.

“Ben not back yet? I said we’d eat at one, I don’t want my Yorkshires to go soggy...”

“He knows what time we’re eating, Ian, he’ll be back!” snapped Kathy. She caught Callum’s eye and quickly turned her expression from one of annoyance to one of calm, polite welcome. A small worm of suspicion wriggled in the back of Callum’s mind that Ben might have been right about Kathy’s ultimate motives for him being here.

“Another drink, Callum?” Kathy asked. He shook his head, indicating his full bottle of lager.

“I’m fine, but thank you.”

“I hear you’re doing the food at the Queen Vic now?” said Ian, coming to perch on the side of his mum’s chair, apparently paying some attention to their guest for the first time. “Someone said you were a chef. Professionally trained, or...?”

“I’ve done some catering qualifications, yeah,” said Callum quietly. “In the Army.” The bottle felt cold between his hands and he was suddenly feeling awkward, wishing against himself that Ben was here to draw attention and take some of the awkwardness out of the air.

“Oh, right,” said Ian, perking up. “Well, if you ever decide to take it further, get some _real_ chef qualifications or pursue it as a proper career and you need some advice, just let me know. Always happy to lend some of my years of expertise to people just starting out on the ladder...”

“Uh, thanks. That’s really kind of you.” He risked a glance sideways to where Lola was sitting with Lexi on the floor. She made a face at him, eyes bulging, and though he just about managed to stop himself from laughing, not wanting to be rude to Ian’s presumably genuine - if pompous - offer of help, warmth still flooded his heart at the sight. Nice to know there was someone on his side.

“Well,” Ian continued, seemingly oblivious, “hope you enjoy lunch, Callum, you can let me know your thoughts. Have to admit, I’m rather proud of my roasties, I’ve spent some time perfecting them over the years...” Out of Ian’s sight, Lola shuffled backwards until she was hidden behind Callum’s leg, then buried her face in the sofa cushion to stifle her giggles. “...you see, the key to an absolutely _perfect_ roast potato is the temperature and consistency of the cooking fat, not what _kind_ of fat you use - that’s what a lot of people fail to understand...”

How much longer the lecture would have gone on Callum was heartily relieved never to find out. They were saved when the back door to the kitchen swung open and then closed again with an almighty crash. The final member of their lunch party, dressed all in black, swept through like a thunder cloud, a picture of dark, boiling rage as he stomped through the kitchen and straight up the stairs.

Both Kathy and Lola called his name as he swept past, and an “I’m fine!” that sounded the very opposite of fine floated back down in response.

A slightly stunned silence descended on the group left in the living room once Ben had gone. Kathy was the first to break it.

“Well, some lunch this is turning out to be. Neither of our sons talking to us.” She raised a hand, waving it to indicate herself and Ian, then threw another apologetic smile in Callum’s direction.

“I hope he’s planning to come back down,” said Ian with a frown, glaring absently in the direction of the stairs. “Bobby too. I need to start plating up in a minute...oh god, no one’s watching the gravy!” He fled back into the kitchen, swearing under his breath.

Left alone with Kathy and Lola, Callum cleared his throat. “I could, um...” He gestured vaguely in the direction of the ceiling. “If you like.” He felt stupid as soon as he’d said it, or presumptuous maybe - why was he claiming a right to go to Ben over Ben’s own mother and the mother of his child? - but both of them were smiling at him in an understanding way that was making his ears turn red again.

“Good idea,” said Kathy warmly, still smiling. “But if his dad’s said something, or done something...” She sighed. “Just see if you can get him to come down for lunch, at least? They’ve got a...complicated relationship.”

Callum nodded. He glanced at Lola as he got to his feet; then breathed in sharply at the look on her face. It wasn’t just concerned. She looked fearful, bordering on terrified.

He carefully placed his drink on the coffee table and headed upstairs, embarrassment only hitting him on the middle landing when he realised that of _course_ they hadn’t had to ask him if he knew how to find Ben’s bedroom.

He knocked at the bedroom door on the top floor before pushing it open, nerves making a sudden grab for his stomach despite his earlier confidence.

Ben was pacing the floor by his bed, a ball of wound up energy. He didn’t look surprised to see Callum.

“Oh look, it’s my stalker,” he spat out.

Callum paused, one hand still on the door handle. Then he began to leave, pulling the door shut behind him again. “Fine.”

“No, wait--” Ben was there in an instant, reaching out, one hand curling around the door to still it, the other reaching up to rub roughly over his face. “Shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that...” He wrenched the door fully open and stepped back into the room, jerking his head backwards to indicate Callum should follow him.

Callum did so but with caution, keeping distance between them. “Did something happen with yer Dad?” he asked quietly.

Ben’s head snapped up, his eyes widening. His movements were all jerky, uncontained, like a frightened cat backed into a corner. “What makes ya say that?”

“Your mum said that’s where ya were.”

Ben snorted. “My good old mum, eh?”

Callum waited patiently as Ben began to pace again, fidgeting back and forth in the small space. Every instinct in him wanted to go over and wrap his arms around the other man, soothe him with gentle strokes and calming words, but he stayed where he was. He didn’t know what reaction he’d get but he suspected it wouldn’t be good.

“Is this about Shirley?” said Callum eventually, needing to say something to break the tension.

Ben barked out a bitter laugh. “Oh, Shirley. Old news. I mean, yeah, she’s taken my job, because my dad doesn’t trust me as far as he can throw me, apparently, and _apparently_ Shirley’s better at talking to the customers than me because she’s less likely to wind people up, and I mean...” He stopped pacing and stared at Callum, wild-eyed. “You’ve _met_ Shirley Carter, right? But that’s fine, that’s just the usual, my dad and me, that’s how little he thinks of me. But _this_...” He made a strangled noise in his throat and pushed his fingers through his hair in a frustrated gesture.

“What’s happened, Ben?” said Callum, stepping closer and reaching out a hand, but Ben twisted away from him, placing two hands on the chest of drawers and breathing deeply for a moment.

“And do you know?” he said, turning back in a flurry of angry movement, ignoring Callum’s question. “He weren’t even gonna _tell_ me? If I hadn’t’ve asked about Ritchie, and if Sharon hadn’t been there and _made_ him tell me, he would never have said a word? It would have been a fun little joke from beyond the grave, one final twist of the knife. I mean, I already knew I’d been cut out, that weren’t news, but to take it away and give it to someone who ain’t even family? Some chancer who’s been on the scene five minutes because, what, he knocks up the boss’s daughter and that makes him the son my dad never had?”

His voice broke on the final few words, rising to a high pitch as the rage and hurt bled through, and Callum stood helplessly, hands hanging useless by his sides as his brain tried to piece together Ben’s garbled rant. Enough of it made sense to make him reach out though, his guts twisting in sorrow, and place a gentle hand on Ben’s shoulder.

“I-I’m so sorry,” he said, no idea what else to say.

Ben made that noise again, barely even speech, somewhere between a howl of despair and a grunt of frustration. He was staring at Callum, eyes dark, breathing fast, trembling from head to toe with pent-up emotion.

Callum was completely unprepared for the kiss this time.

It came out of nowhere, Ben all but launching himself at Callum as though from a springboard, up on his tiptoes, locking their lips together, one hand gripping fast to his shirt. Callum responded entirely out of instinct. His hands flew up to hold and caress either side of Ben’s head and he automatically opened his mouth to allow Ben entry; but as they began to back into the wall behind him, Ben’s hands roaming down to grope his arse, his brain finally cranked into gear and he pulled away.

“Ben, stop!”

They broke apart, Ben backing off, and there was a moment of silence - or near silence, broken only by the harsh sound of their breathing.

“What...what are you doing?” Callum managed to ask.

“You want me,” said Ben, his gaze fixed and unblinking.

Callum swallowed, dropping his own gaze. He had to. “Yeah, I do,” he admitted, mainly to the floor. It had been a long time since it had seen a vacuum cleaner, some small and inappropriate part of him noticed. “But not like this.”

Ben nodded, then began to move again, pacing back and forth from the chest of drawers to the wall as he had done earlier. “Sorry... _sorry_ ,” he said, more to the wall than to Callum, his motions becoming jerkier as Callum watched him, frozen in uncertainty about what to do for the best. On his next journey to the wall, Ben stopped and leaned both hands against it, his breath coming out in ragged gasps. “I just...what the hell do I do?” It came out high-pitched, and as Callum moved towards him, unsure how but needing to offer some sort of comfort, Ben swung his arm back and punched the wall as hard as he could with a closed fist.

“Ben!” Callum rushed to him in alarm, grabbing hold of his right arm before it could reach back and repeat the motion. His shoulders were shaking as Callum put an arm around them, finally offering the embrace he’d been dying to ever since entering the room.

“It’s okay. It’s okay.” He saw the tears in Ben’s eyes, but said nothing as he led Ben over to the bed with a gentle, “Come on.”

Ben resisted the embrace at first, sitting stiffly next to Callum on the bed as tears pooled in his eyes. But after a moment or two of Callum choosing to say nothing but inspecting the knuckles on his right hand for damage instead, his fight seemed to melt away. His head dropped on to Callum’s shoulder and he turned in his arms, accepting the hug.

Callum continued to stay silent, pulling his arms more tightly around Ben’s back and bringing one hand up to nestle in his hair. His shirt collar was getting damp with tears.

Eventually, Ben spoke first, his voice slightly muffled. “We’d better get downstairs before Ian totally does his nut and chucks our lunch in the bin.”

Callum managed a chuckle even as Ben pulled away from him, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “Can’t miss out on the perfect roast potato, can we?” He looked sideways at Ben. “You okay?”

“No,” said Ben, with surprising honesty. He turned back to Callum and flashed a twisted smile. “But I will be. Thanks.”

“Your dad sounds like a nightmare.”

“Oh, he is.” He was beginning to sound slightly manic as he pushed himself off the bed, smoothing down his ruffled hair. “And he gets worse and worse every day. But he’ll get what’s coming to him. Pretty boy, too.”

“What do you mean by that?” said Callum in alarm as he followed Ben off the bed and out of the room. Ben didn’t answer and Callum increased his pace, catching up with him at the top of the stairs and reaching out to grab his elbow. “Ben.”

Ben turned to face him and paused for a moment, eyes darting over his face as if searching for something. Then he took a deep breath, and:

“Go out with me.”

Callum blinked. “I’m sorry?” It came out a little squeakier than intended, shock flooding through him.

“I know I’ve messed you around. I’m sorry. Let’s try again. Proper date, get out of Walford; I dunno, go for a meal or something. You and me. What do you say?”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I never meant to abandon this fic, and apologies for doing so - won’t bore you with all the reasons, but a big one was that the ending of Ben’s hearing loss storyline in the terrible way EE did it honestly broke my heart and pretty much killed any interest I had in Ballum for a while. Very much struggled to summon up any enthusiasm for writing the pairing at all, especially a fic that had no focus on Ben’s deaf identity.
> 
> But it’s always bugged me that this fic is sitting here incomplete, so this is me coming up with a new, much shorter ending for the story - a couple of shorter chapters and an epilogue, instead of the six longer chapters I had planned. It’s not going to include everything that was in the original plan, but at least it will be finished!
> 
> A brief recap of where we are: Ben’s a bit of a mess, pushing Callum away one minute (because he thinks Callum’s too good for him), then drawn to him the next. At a Beale Sunday lunch, Ben had a bit of a meltdown over the discovery of Shirley working for Phil and Keanu getting put in Phil’s will; he punched some walls and cried some angry tears, then attempted to kiss Callum before asking him out, much to Callum’s confusion. This next chapter then jumps ahead a little bit...

**Tuesday 30 July 2019**

Ben woke with a start, the remnants of his dream disappearing as he tried to hold on to them. The details were muddled, but he remembered anger, lots of anger; he’d been shouting at someone in cold fury, though the image of their face was slipping away from him too. It was probably Phil though, it was usually Phil.

He rolled over and couldn’t help a smile breaking across his own face as he looked at the man sleeping peacefully next to him. Who’d have thought the last couple of weeks would have led them here?

He lay still for a moment, enjoying the peace of the early morning and the quiet in his head, watching Callum’s chest move slowly up and down as he breathed. His eyes flickered over the other man’s face, taking in the details; tracing the pattern of stubble across his jaw with invisible fingers...

“Ben...Ben!”

“What?” he muttered at the sound of banging on his bedroom door, still half asleep.

“Get up, would ya?” came Lola’s muffled voice. “I’ve gotta be at the salon in ten minutes and you promised you’d have Lexi this morning!”

“Coming!” he hollered back, before rolling over to look again at the empty space in the bed beside him. Of course it was only a dream, his sleep-confused mind replaying the fantasies he’d conjured up before falling asleep last night. Callum wasn’t here. The universe wasn’t that kind to Ben Mitchell.

Not that he needed the universe to be against him, he was perfectly capable of screwing up his own life all by himself. Memories of last night hit him with full force, making him shudder as he stumbled out of bed, searching for his discarded dressing gown. If it hadn’t been for Lexi, he’d have crawled straight back under the duvet again.

In the kitchen, Lola was looking rattled and Lexi was running around making buzzing noises for some reason. He greeted them both, returning Lexi’s fierce hug when she hurled herself at his legs, while making a beeline for the much-needed coffee.

“You’re up late,” Lola commented, looking distracted as she dug around inside a box full of gauze and bits of material. “I didn’t hear you come in. Take it the date went well, then?”

She’d said it with a smile, her mind clearly elsewhere, but her head whipped round and her face fell at the sound of Ben’s non-committal grunt in response.

“Oh, no...what did you do now?”

“Nothing!” He wrenched open a cupboard door with some force, before slamming it shut again in disgust at the lack of clean mugs it contained. It was hard to choose whether to be more annoyed at Lola for assuming he was at fault, or at himself because she wasn’t exactly wrong with the assumption.

Lola wasn’t giving up, letting out a sigh as she watched him. “I thought you liked Callum? He’s such a nice guy, I don’t get why you’re messing him around like this...”

“I ain’t messing anyone around, all right? It’s...complicated.” He pushed her to one side as he headed to the sink in the search for mugs, but it was a more gentle push than it might have been. She rolled her eyes at him as she stepped away. “How are you and Jay doing?”

Lola shrugged, her face blank. “Don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve told you, I ain’t here for Jay.”

“Right then. I’ll keep my nose out of your love life, you keep your nose out of mine.” Ben nodded at the bright yellow netting Lola was still holding in one hand. “What’s all that for?”

She stepped forward and shoved the material into his hand, a grin on her face. “You’re making Lexi a bee costume for holiday club, and it needs to be done today. Have fun!”

* * *

_Can we talk? x_

Ben stared at the draft text, his one thumb hovering over the Send button while he chewed on the thumb of his other hand. A childish habit he’d somehow never quite grown out of.

Lexi was chattering away beside him, oblivious as always to all the swirling thoughts invading his head. The process of turning her into a bee was going better than expected, and they’d stopped for juice and biscuits, bits of material and net skirts scattered around the living room. The mood he was in, Ben had been tempted to add a slug of something a bit more adult to his own glass. But it had only been a passing thought, quickly dismissed. Lexi was the priority right now.

“Who are you texting?” she asked, possibly noticing she wasn’t getting enough of a reaction to her lengthy story about holiday club.

“Nobody important, baby.”

He frowned at his phone; then quickly deleted the draft and replaced the text with _I’m sorry about last night. Can we meet?_ , pressing send before he could change his mind.

He looked at his daughter, finishing her juice, and felt his heart flood with love in a way he was still getting used to. Bright, innocent, full of uncompromising joy; the one pure thing in his life. He’d been such a mess back then when Lexi had come into the world. Always full of fear; terrified of his own father, terrified of himself, the person he was, his temper, the things he was knew he was capable of, the dark thoughts that filled his head that he couldn’t control. He didn’t blame Lola at all for insisting Lexi wasn’t his at first. Who would have wanted him as a father?

They’d _both_ been such a mess back then, two fucked-up kids making mistake after mistake; yet Lexi had been the result, this bright shining star. Something so pure resulting from darkness and chaos.

Ben was still a mess. Had never stopped being a mess, had never got a handle on his own life the way Lola had. And Lola got the credit for his amazing daughter, of course she did; the first seven years of her life had had very little to do with him. But still, that thought, the idea of something so good coming out of the nightmare of his youth couldn’t help a little bit of hope kindling in his chest every time he looked at her. No one’s all bad, not even him. He might be a screw-up, but he could still be a part of something good.

He smiled at his daughter, careful as always not to let any of the blackness filling his head to infect her world, where everything was warm, soft and safe.

“Want more juice?”

She shook her head.

“Biscuit?”

Shake.

“Cup of tea? Three-course dinner?”

“Nooo,” she giggled, enjoying the game.

“Well, what do you want, then?”

“I want to be a bee!” she cried, fists on her hips and a huge, infectious grin on her face.

“I guess we’d better get cracking then, hadn’t we, Princess?”

The reply to his text came back half an hour later. Ben distracted an excited Lexi by getting her to run upstairs and look at her bee outfit in the full-length mirror in her bedroom, then retrieved his phone from his back pocket.

It was short and to the point.

_This evening? Walford East at 7?_

He replied quickly, not caring about how eager it might make him look. _Deal. x_

* * *

He’d told Lola the truth, earlier. He’d never meant to mess Callum around.

He hadn’t meant to ask him out, that fateful moment on the landing. Not to just blurt it out like that. But he’d been thinking about it for a while, the thought swirling around in his head, distracting him from Phil, the Plan, all of it. Why _not_ try again? Pretend to be normal, just for a bit? It wouldn’t last, he knew that; sooner or later Callum would realise who Ben really was, and that would be the end of that. But if Ben knew that going in, maybe he could simply enjoy himself for a while, for however long it lasted.

It wasn’t, probably, the best moment to ask. He’d been filled with rage and pain, desperate and despairing at his father’s ability to still hurt him after all these years. But Callum hadn’t asked questions; hadn’t argued with him or dismissed his pain; hadn’t pushed him away or left the room or even kissed him back. He’d just held him. Held him in a way that no one had ever really done, not since Paul.

It would have taken a stronger man than Ben not to fold.

And the attempt at being normal had gone well; at first anyway. He’d been nervous, and Callum had been nervous, and there’d been awkward moments as they’d sat there in their best shirts, fidgeting with their beer bottles and waiting for each other to talk. He’d taken Callum to a nice little pub he knew in Bow; a bit overpriced and full of hipsters, but it had a quiet atmosphere and space to sit and talk. Not to mention an indie-skewed playlist that hadn’t been updated in well over a decade.

It wasn’t Ben’s cup of tea, music-wise, but Callum’s eyes had lit up ten minutes in, delighted at a song he hadn’t heard in years; and this sparked a conversation about music that broke the ice and relieved the tension at their table. Some time after that, Ben had managed to relax fully. This was _easy_ , he could do this, he could almost remember _how_ to do this. To be ordinary. To sit in comfortable companionship with someone who was laughing at his terrible jokes, eyes shining, that beautiful, big grin beaming away. Ben found he couldn’t stop smiling himself, much as he tried to wrestle against it, afraid of giving himself away. Walford, and everyone in it - all that pain and drama and nonsense - seemed to fade away somewhere, unimportant.

But then Callum had asked the question. Not the one Ben had been dreading but fully expecting to hear - the ‘why did you ask me out again after everything you said before’ question - but a question he hadn’t seen coming. A query as to why Ben had a split lip and fresh bruises on his knuckles, and if that had anything to do with the nasty looking black eye Keanu Taylor had been sporting the last few days.

Ben had tried to deflect with a flippant quip or two, something about a garage being a dangerous place, but Callum had pressed the point, refusing to dismiss it. So Ben had got defensive, lost his temper, said some stupid shit and stormed out; and before he knew it, he was taking a miserable cab ride home by himself.

He should have known it was too much to hope for, that he could spend an evening in a pub with a fit bloke he liked, just being two ordinary people out on a date. Being Ben Mitchell always caught up with him sooner or later.

* * *

He was already there when Ben arrived at Walford East that evening. Ben hadn’t wanted to get there first, not wanting to seem too desperate, but as he entered the restaurant and spied Callum before Callum spotted him, he wondered again why he was bothering. Who was he trying to fool, exactly? He suspected his feelings were written all over his face every time he so much as looked at the bloke.

Callum looked shocked to see him, glancing up in surprise when Ben slid into the booth opposite him. He looked like he’d been miles away, lost in thought, but a smile flashed across his face at Ben’s appearance. It was a good start.

“All right?”

“All right? I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.”

Ben waited a moment, but when nothing further was forthcoming, he acknowledged to himself that it was probably up to him to make the first move.

He put his phone on the table in front of him, then folded his hands on top of it, giving himself time to try and get his words in order. “Thanks for agreeing to meet me.” Callum nodded, not giving anything away. “Look, I wanted to say sorry for last night. I overreacted a bit.”

That finally got a reaction, Callum’s face unfreezing as his mouth turned up slightly at the corners; not exactly a smile, but definitely encouraging. “A bit?”

“Okay,” said Ben, “I overreacted a _lot_. I think I’ve said something before about not being very good at letting people in.” He risked a smile and was rewarded with Callum’s face lighting up as he smiled back. Then he seemed to remember himself and the smile quickly faded.

“I wanted to say sorry too,” he said, looking earnest. “I didn’t mean to pry, or make you feel like you were being, I dunno, interrogated or something, Ben...”

“You didn’t? I dunno, mate, you make the Spanish Inquisition look like a bunch of amateurs.” He said it as a joke, his voice falling back into a familiar mocking tone, but Callum seemed to take it to heart. He frowned at Ben and shook his head.

“I don’t think I can keep doing this. Every time I think we’re getting somewhere, we seem to go backwards again. Maybe we should just call it quits for good.”

Ben’s stomach lurched, panic flooding his chest and rising up in his throat. “No, no,” he managed to stammer out, hoping he looked a lot calmer than he felt. “Look, last night was my fault --"

“Weren’t just your fault,” Callum interrupted. “I shouldn’t have pushed you like that.”

“Yeah, but you’re not stupid, are you? You see Taylor with bruises on his pretty face, you see bruises on my knuckles - after the other day, you’re gonna have questions.”

“Suppose it’s none of my business really,” Callum said lightly. “But--” And here he suddenly came over a bit shy, ducking his head down as he added, “I care about you, Ben. Whatever ever happens with you and me, I don’t want to see you in trouble.”

For a moment - more than a moment - Ben was left speechless. It was more than he was expecting, and far more than he deserved. But he managed to rally, resorting to his usual tactic when it looked like things were getting a bit emotional; he went straight for the joke. “Well, _you’ve_ clearly never dated a Mitchell before.”

Callum looked surprised. “Are we dating?”

Ben opened his mouth, his first instinct to pull back, say it was only a joke, put the barrier back up between them; but to his own surprise, something different - something soft and definitely flirty - came out. “Think that depends on how tonight goes.”

Callum smiled that shy smile again, the one that made Ben’s heart thump against his ribcage, and nodded solemnly.

“So?” he asked. “Are you going to tell me what happened?”

Ben swallowed, bracing himself, before leaning forward with as sincere expression as he could muster. “Look, it was just stupid and embarrassing, all right? You know what happened the other day, with my Dad, and the will and everything - I got a bit wound up, went round to the Arches to have it out with him. Things got a bit heated, he ended up with a bit of black eye, and - because he ain’t no gentlemen - I got some bruises in places I can’t show you in public. Course,” he added with a wink, “if you want a private showing later...”

Callum laughed, and that real grin of his appeared for the first time that night, shoulders dropping as the tension ebbed.

“And that’s it?”

“That’s it,” Ben lied, easy as breathing. “Just a bit of a stupid argument that got out of hand. He gave as good as he got, believe me.”

“Why couldn’t you just tell me that the other night?” Callum asked, honest and open.

“Um...” A nervous voice interrupted them before Ben could respond. It was Bobby, hovering near the table looking awkward, notepad in hand and an apron on. “I’m sorry, I don’t want to interrupt --"

But Callum was already greeting him happily, his smile widening as he turned the full force of that sunshine face onto Bobby. “I didn’t know you were working here!”

“Uh, yeah, ju-just started tonight, actually...”

They continued to chat for a moment, both looking genuinely pleased to see each other, while Ben watched, his stomach churning. He’d barely paid much attention to Bobby recently, he realised now, shame washing over him. He’d been so distracted - with his Dad, this business about the will, stopping himself from smashing Keanu’s head in, not to mention the sixteen hours a day he spent with Callum consuming his thoughts - that he couldn’t even think of when he last had a proper conversation with his nephew. Ben knew his Mum had been determined to get Bobby and Callum together for a bit of a chat, but judging by the way they were happily nattering away now, it had progressed quite a bit further than Ben had realised. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Bobby look this relaxed, or smile so openly.

It was ridiculous to be jealous. He knew that. But that didn’t stop the bile from rising into his throat, or the rage that bubbled for a moment in his gut. He didn’t even know what he was envious of; Bobby, for monopolising Callum’s attention and smiles, or Callum, for his easy familiarity with Ben’s own nephew. A nephew who’d shut down whenever Ben tried to talk to him, however much they had in common, but was chatting to Callum like he’d known him forever.

It was an ugly feeling. He hated himself for thinking it. But it wasn’t new; he’d felt it before, if not this strongly, seeing Callum chinwag with Jay over a pint in the Vic, or seeing him with Lola, or Kathy, or even Ian. He’d been in Walford for a matter of weeks, a month or two at most, and yet he seemed to have formed easy-going friendships with everyone Ben knew. Ben had been born here, grew up here, spent most of his life living in this corner of the world, yet every day still felt like a fight just to get a little bit of respect.

“Ben?”

Callum was staring at him, and it took a moment before he realised Bobby had asked them if they wanted any drinks. Covering his confusion, Ben ordered a beer.

“And is it just drinks you’re having, or wi-will you be ordering any food?” Bobby asked, body language awkward as he hovered with pencil poised.

Ben glanced across at Callum, who after a slight pause picked up the menu in front of him and smiled. “Well,” he said softly, holding Ben’s gaze, “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”

The relief and joy seemed to start in his stomach and blossom outwards through his entire body, quickly followed by shame for the dark thoughts he’d been thinking. “I could eat. I know what I want,” Ben added, looking pointedly at Callum with a slight pause before finishing the sentence. “--to eat. You?

Callum flushed, but quickly glanced over the menu and ordered a burger.

Ben waited until Bobby was far enough away before asking, “Since when have you two been friends?”

He hadn’t meant it to come out quite as harsh as it did, but Callum seemed unbothered, a soft smile on his face as he considered the question. “Um, well, we’ve had a couple of chats recently about this and that, ya know. He’s a good kid.”

Ben nodded, his throat feeling raw. “Yeah. He is.” He leaned forward across the table. “And to answer your earlier question, I didn’t tell you about Keanu last night when you asked because A, I’m an idiot, and B, it doesn’t make me look very good, does it? I’m trying to get in your pants here.”

“Ben!” It was a minor explosion, Callum’s eyes darting round. He’d got the shocked reaction he’d wanted, but Callum was also showing signs of laughter too, to Ben’s delight.

“I thought you wanted honesty?”

Callum shook his head, but he was smiling and laughing with it. God, he was ridiculously cute, thought Ben for the thousandth time, his stomach lurching. He could no more stay away from him than he could...well, stop himself from doing any of the other things in his life that he knew were probably a bad idea at the time.

The drinks arrived and they chatted for a while after that; work, football (Ben pretended to look interested), cars (Callum did likewise). The kind of small, inconsequential things you talk about when you’re still trying each other out, discovering each other.

By the time their food arrived, the knots in Ben’s gut had begun to untie themselves and dissolve away to nothing. There seemed to be a smile on his face he couldn’t quite get rid of. Maybe he could do this after all.

When his phone rang, he ignored it, not wanting to break the spell.

“Do you not wanna...?” Callum nodded towards the phone, vibrating on the table top.

Ben shook his head. “If it’s important, they’ll leave a message. I’m enjoying this. The burger, I mean,” he added with another wink, and was rewarded with that beaming grin again.

The second time it rang, he picked it up and turned it over to see the display; Sharon. Something to do with the club, maybe, or his Dad kicking off about something yet again. Maybe he’d found out about the Keanu incident. Definitely not wanting that reminder to intrude into what was turning into a very promising evening, he cancelled the call. It buzzed a moment later, a text or voicemail, and Ben waved away Callum’s query with an ‘It’ll keep.”

When it buzzed again, a moment later, it was Callum who lost his patience, grabbing the phone from the table and thrusting it in Ben’s face. “Will you just answer it, please? I don’t think they’re gonna give up!”

Ben took the phone, ready to dismiss it again, but his eyes caught sight of the text that had just come through and the words died in his throat.

_Tried to phone. Your dad’s been attacked. You need to get to the hospital. Sharon x_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please forgive me for the 'it was all a dream' opening, I couldn't resist.
> 
> Final chapters coming this weekend!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gets a little darker than the rest of this fic; warnings for a brief bit of graphic, violent imagery around a death fantasy plus discussion of toxic and abusive parent/child relationships.
> 
> Also, this chapter got LONG, a lot longer than I was expecting, so I’ve split it into two.

**Wednesday 31 July 2019**

“And how would you describe your relationship with Mr Mitchell?”

Callum looked at the police officer as she fixed him with that blank stare, not giving anything away. He was still a little baffled as to why she was there at all; they’d told him that they were here to follow up on some information around Phil’s attack, but it had only been less than a day since it happened. Surely the detective in charge of the case had better things to do than ask him about his relationship with Ben? How was it even relevant? As far as he knew, Phil was still in a bad way in hospital, though his texts to Ben were going unanswered and the police officers had refused to tell him any further details when he’d asked.

Could he even _call_ what he had with Ben a relationship? He fidgeted with the mug in his hand, sat in the Carters’ living room above the Vic while the two detectives sat side by side on the sofa like statues.

“Um,” said Callum, still stalling for time. “Well. We’re friends. I ‘spose you could say we’ve been seeing each other a bit. Ya know, on and off. Early days though.”

“You wouldn’t describe him as a boyfriend, then?” said DCI Morgan.

“No...no, nothing like that,” he said hastily, still wondering what on earth this had to do with Phil’s attack.

“And how long have you known Mr Mitchell?”

“A few weeks, maybe a couple of months?”

She nodded like this meant something. Placing her own mug of tea down on the coffee table, she leaned forward. “So, take me back to last night then. You’d agreed to meet Mr Mitchell for a meal.”

“Yeah. Well, no, just drinks, but then we decided to get some food.” As she continued to ask for details, Callum explained that they’d agreed to meet at seven, but that he’d been early and Ben had been a bit late, so he’d had to wait a while. He confirmed Ben had turned up about ten past seven.

“And how did Mr Michell seem, exactly, when he arrived?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, what was his mood - did he seem calm, relaxed? Or agitated, or out of sorts?”

Realisation finally broke through from where it had been hammering on the walls of his brain for the past few minutes, hitting Callum with the force of a blow. This wasn’t about confirming details. This was about gathering evidence. “You think he did it, don’t you? That’s ridiculous!”

“We’re just trying to establish the facts, Mr Highway.” Still that calm, bland demeanour that was causing anger to coil in Callum’s chest for some reason.

“You can’t possibly think Ben did it. It’s his Dad, why would he hurt him?”

She cocked her head on one side with an unreadable look on her face. “It does seem to be common knowledge that the two of them don’t always get along very well.”

“Yeah, well,” he snapped, “I don’t get along very well with my Dad, but I don’t see anyone suggesting I’ve ever tried to kill him!”

“So you think that’s what happened? Someone tried to kill Phil Mitchell?”

Callum stopped, confused. “That’s...what you said, ain’t it?”

“I think I simply confirmed that Mr Mitchell had been hurt and was in hospital, I don’t remember making any speculation on the attacker’s motives.”

“I ‘spose I just assumed, then - Ben said his Dad had been attacked...”

“When was this?”

“Last night, in the restaurant. His phone kept ringing, I kept telling him to answer it, and then he got this text from his step-mum--”

“So he was deliberately ignoring his phone?” She raised an eyebrow as she asked the question, while her colleague scribbled something further in his little notepad.

“Yeah,” said Callum with a note of defiance, his chin raised. He put his empty mug down on the coffee table with a satisfying clunk, then leaned forward to face the officers, hands on his knees. “Look, there’s no way Ben had anything to do with it. He was calm - I dunno, _normal_ \- when he arrived, and he weren’t answering his phone because we were having a nice meal and he didn’t want distracting - then you should have seen his face when he saw the text, he went all white and funny. He weren’t faking that, no chance.”

The detective nodded again, but didn’t say anything at first, turning to exchange glances with her colleague again.

Callum fidgeted, rubbing his hands together where they hung loosely between his thighs. His mind was replaying last night’s scenes in the restaurant, almost against his will. Ben sitting opposite him, happy and relaxed, that shy smile that transformed his face appearing from time to time - then the way the colour had drained from it when he saw the text. No, there was no way he’d got him wrong. It was a deep-rooted certainty he could feel in his very bones, whatever smug-faced detective and her little mate might think about it.

“And he left the restaurant as soon as he got the text? Did you go with him?”

“No...” Callum swallowed. “I, uh, offered, but he wanted to go to the hospital alone.” It had been Callum’s first instinct, to not let him go alone, and for one brief moment he thought Ben would accept the offer. He’d had a soft look in his eyes and the tiniest almost-smile on his face as he’d paused; phone still gripped tightly in one hand, jacket in the other, looking at Callum as though he was seeing him for the first time. But then that face had shut down on him again and Callum had been shut out. _No need. It’s family, you know.._.

“Can I ask you about earlier in the evening, then?” said Morgan, changing tack. “Where were you before you went to the restaurant?”

Callum blinked at her, thrown by the change of topic. “Um...here. I was here, I think, I went straight there.”

“Which way did you walk?” asked the male detective; Callum had already forgotten his name.

“I’m sorry?”

“You walked from here to the restaurant - Walford East, is it? So which way did you go; along the main street, or down that footpath that goes past the Mitchells’ garage?”

“Oh, right,” said Callum, realising what he was getting at. “Uh, the footpath I think, probably? I would have passed the Arches.”

“Did you see anything? Hear anything out of the ordinary?”

“No.” He tried to bring the scene to mind, but he could barely remember the journey at all; his mind had been full of the meeting with Ben he was walking towards, wondering desperately if he was going there to suggest they try again or finally end it for good. “No, I didn’t notice anything, I think it was probably all shut up?”

Morgan nodded and took over the questioning again from her colleague. “I understand you work in the pub?”

“That’s right.”

“There was, I’m told, a bit of an argument yesterday downstairs in the bar, between Mr Mitchell Senior and one of his employees - a Mr Keanu Taylor. Did you witness that?”

Callum was struggling to keep up with this. What argument? “No, that must’ve been after my shift, I were only on lunchtime yesterday. I was upstairs until I left for my da-- the restaurant.”

“And you don’t remember seeing Mr Philip Mitchell at all, in the pub or outside?”

“It’s very important you tell us if you do,” added her colleague.

He stared from one face to another, feeling as though he were missing the undercurrents here. But he hadn’t seen a thing, his mind full of Ben from the moment he stopped fiddling with his hair in the bathroom mirror, to the second Ben had sat down opposite him in the restaurant booth. He couldn’t even remember which door he’d left through, or if he’d walked through the pub at all. He wasn’t going to admit that to them though, sat there in silent, smug condemnation of a man they didn’t know at all.

He ignored the niggling little voice at the back of his mind that pointed out that _he_ barely knew Ben either.

Once they’d finally gone, all fake politeness and ‘we’ll see ourselves out’, he returned to his room to rescue his phone from where it was charging. Flopping down on the bed, he checked his texts, but there was still no reply to the three he’d sent since last night.

_‘Hope you got to the hospital ok. Let me know if anything I can do.’_

_‘Thinking of you and the family, hope all ok.’_

_‘How is everything? Guess you’re still at the hospital or maybe catching up on some sleep, but let me know how you’re doing when you can. x’_

It would be extremely pathetic, bordering on desperate, to send a fourth text, right? _Yes_ , he told himself firmly, placing the phone back on his bedside table, and rolling back to stretch out on the bed, hands behind his head.

What he’d told the police was true; he wasn’t Ben’s boyfriend, wasn’t really anything to him, not properly. Ben had his family around him and this was a private matter, Callum had no right to be kept in the loop. But his stomach refused to settle as he lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling as his brain replayed last night’s date with Ben and today’s conversation with the police over and over.

It was his day off today. He’d made no plans. He quite liked a mid-week day off usually, a chance to play some Xbox or listen to music with no one disturbing him. At the back of his mind, he also knew that he’d been keeping his free time deliberately clear in the last week or two; not sure where this thing with Ben was going, but unable to quite shed that glimmer of hope that maybe his free time might become a little less free in the future. But that was him all over, always the optimist until reality inevitably came crashing in.

He didn’t know how long he lay there, his mind whirring, skirting round the edges of the Big Question he didn’t want to think about, and filling up with smaller questions instead - why hadn’t Ben replied, when would he hear some news, how was Phil, how was Ben, _where_ was Ben...

Eventually it became unbearable, the silence of the empty flat crushing down on him. There was only one way he was going to put his mind at rest. Grabbing a jacket and his phone, he swung himself off the bed and headed out with purpose.

The pub downstairs was quiet, just entering the post-lunchtime lull. Peering round the side of the bar as he entered, Callum glanced round more in hope than expectation of a friendly face. Someone like Jay or Lola would have been perfect; someone that might be able to give him some news or let him know how Ben was without wanting to know why he was asking. But they’d be at the hospital of course, or at work, or at home waiting for news, not sitting in a pub. There was only Mick and Linda behind the bar, and a few regulars dotted around.

Before Mick or Linda could catch his eye and ask awkward questions about Ben he didn’t know the answer to, Callum slipped quietly out of the side door.

He tried the car lot first, but as suspected, it was all locked up with a sign on the door telling customers to call and leave a message. After glancing wildly round the Square for a second or two, he gave up; there was only one place he was going to get answers, and as awkward as it might be depending on who answered the door, it was his best option.

Fate was smiling on him. It was Lola who appeared when he knocked on the back door of the Beales’ house moments later; but his smile and relieved greeting died on his lips at the sight of her face.

She looked behind him for a moment, as though she were expecting someone else to be there, then gave him a distracted smile.

“Hey. Thought for a minute you might have been Ben forgetting his key.”

“I thought this door was never locked?” It was a poor attempt at a joke, but Lola didn’t seem to have even heard him, pulling on her ponytail with one hand in a frustrated gesture.

“You ain’t seen him, have you?” she asked. “Ben? He ain’t answering his phone.”

“No,” said Callum, watching her with concern. “That’s actually why I... Is everything okay? How’s Phil doing?”

“He’s doing okay. Out of danger, anyway - they did some sort of op to relieve the swelling on his brain, and now they’re just waiting for him to wake up, to see how he is. Sharon and Louise and everyone went home for a bit I think, they were exhausted. I had to be here today for Lex, Kathy’s working and no one else could have her...”

She was beginning to ramble, looking almost on the edge of hysteria. Not sure what else to do, Callum asked, “And Ben? Is Ben okay?”

“I don’t know!” It came out almost as a wail, and she glanced at the ajar kitchen door before lowering her voice. “No one knows where he went, and I think...I’m worried he might do something stupid.”

“Stupid?” Callum repeated slowly, lost to her meaning.

She didn’t answer him immediately, picking up her mobile phone from the kitchen worktop instead. “I’ve tried Jay too, but his phone’s off - they told me at the funeral parlour that he was out all day, home visits or something. Jay’s the only one who can get through to him when he’s like this...”

“Lola...” Trying again, he reached out an arm and touched her shoulder with a gentle hand. “Lola.” 

She jumped and turned to face him like she’d only just remembered he was there.

“Tell me what happened. Where did Ben go?”

Lola stared at him for a moment before taking a deep breath and seeming to get a grip on herself. “The hospital. I think he’s gone to the hospital.”

* * *

Ten minutes later, Callum found himself in a cab approaching Walford General with a feeling like he’d left his brain behind in Albert Square, still racing to catch up.

Lola thought Ben was going to kill his own father. She hadn’t said so in so many words, but once he’d realised exactly what her wide eyes and frantic tone were trying to convey, it had been like a physical blow to the gut. She honestly seemed to believe that Ben was capable of whacking his own father over the back of the head with a blunt instrument, then going to the hospital the next day to finish him off.

She wasn’t the only one either; from her slightly garbled explanations as she first tried to persuade him to go to the hospital to look for Ben for her, then as they waited for the cab, it sounded as though Ben was Number One suspect with the police. Quite possibly their _only_ suspect. They’d taken his clothes and kept him in for questioning overnight, releasing him this morning when, apparently, Ben had then argued separately with every member of his family before storming off. Callum had been right, then, about his own visit from the police - they’d come to question him today solely for the purpose of building a case.

Had he been wrong about everything else? After paying the cabbie and waving him off, Callum stood at the bottom of the steps at the visitor entrance to the hospital, taking some deep breaths as he tried to calm his own brain. Had he been wrong about Ben? Was he so naïve that he’d been taken in by a smiling villain, using Callum as an alibi after trying to kill his own father? But even though his head said it was possible, every other part of his body was screaming that there was no way.

Doing something extremely stupid in a fit of rage? Callum could believe that. He’d seen Ben’s mood swings for himself, had held him that day he’d found out about his father’s will and felt the waves of rage and pain pouring out of him. Ben had punched a wall that day, and clearly his fist had then connected with Keanu’s face another day; it wasn’t exactly a leap of imagination to picture him lashing out at his father.

But then coming straight to their date and sitting there looking calm and happy, fully focused on Callum, not a trace of anger or fear? Coming back the next day to murder his own father in cold blood? From everything Callum had seen of him, Ben was the kind of person whose emotions were sitting just below the surface, always on the edge of bursting out. This just didn’t feel right.

He’d never been to Walford General before, so it took Callum a bit of time to find the right ward, despite Lola’s instructions. He thought he might have some trouble getting in, but the harried, busy-looking person in scrubs who asked him if he was family took his stuttered “Ye-yes” with no further questions, pointing him towards a door along the corridor before they scuttled off.

They’d put Phil in a private room. Opening the door, full of nerves as to what he might see after Lola’s earlier panic, it was almost an anti-climax to find the room empty except for the patient.

Phil lay in a bed, clearly still out of it, a tube breathing for him and surrounded by beeping machines. Callum paused in the doorway; not wanting to disturb the sleeping patient but unsure what to do next. Making up his mind, he began to back away again when a voice spoke.

“You here for a reason?”

Callum jumped as though he’d been Tasered. Hidden behind the door, as he discovered once he’d peered round it, were a couple of chairs for visitors. One was currently occupied by Ben Mitchell.

“Oh! Um...what was that, sorry?”

Ben raised an eyebrow from where he sat, staring hard at Callum. “You’re here. Any particular reason?”

“I wanted to check you were okay,” said Callum truthfully, finally entering the room and letting the door swing shut behind him. “You weren’t answering my texts. And Lola was worried.”

“Oh, was she?” said Ben. He shifted along in his seat, freeing up the one next to him as he waved a hand; a clear invitation to sit down. “Worried about _me_ , or worried I’d come back to finish the old man off?”

Callum didn’t reply, not knowing what to say. He took the invitation though, sitting himself down next to Ben on the plastic hospital chairs. That seemed to be all the answer Ben needed.

“Ah. So you’ve been sent to stop me pulling the plug, have you? No offence meant at all, mate, but surprised she sent you.”

“I think I was third or maybe fourth choice,” admitted Callum, and was rewarded by Ben letting out a snort of laughter. “Jay wasn’t answering his phone and I think your Mum’s stuck in the caff.” He decided to leave out the part where he’d only run into Lola in the first place because he was looking for someone to tell him how Ben was.

Ben laughed again. “Oh, she’d never have sent my Mum, babe, neither of my parents have ever been able to stop me doing something stupid when I wanted to. Jay’s a better shout though.”

He fell quiet for a moment, closing his eyes and leaning his head against the wall behind it. It gave Callum a chance to take a proper look at him. He was nowhere near as relaxed as he’d appeared to be when Callum first entered the room, though he was doing a good impression of it; but up close, you could see how his face was pale and drawn, one foot tapping up and down and his fingers fidgeting where they rested on his stomach. Even without the visual cues, there’d been a nasty hint of bitterness in his tone as he’d talked. The ‘babe’ was new though. It seemed to have slipped out without Ben realising.

“Getting a good look?” said Ben, catching Callum out though he still hadn’t opened his eyes. He did so now, rolling his head to look towards Callum. “Do you think I did this?”

The question was so direct it caught Callum off-guard; he’d still been thinking about how to answer the previous question.

“Your Dad’s attack?”

“Yeah. Do you think I did it?”

“No,” said Callum, quick and assured. “No, I don’t.”

Ben made a noise that was somewhere between a snort and a growl. “Everyone else does.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” said Callum quietly.

“Oh, no, it is. Police think so. There was some anonymous call for an ambulance from the phone box by the Arches, and they think it was me. They’ve been searching the Arches, the car lot, the house all day - like if I _did_ do it, I’d be stupid enough to hide the weapon in my bedroom. And Ian thinks I did it. Sharon thinks I did it.”

Callum tried to protest at this point, but Ben steamrollered on.

“My own _sister_ thinks I did it. Said so right to my face. All I did was ask if pretty boy had an alibi, and she comes back with...” He paused to take a breath, then continued while Callum was still wondering what Louise had said to him. “The mother of my child thinks I did it, and she don’t just think I tried to do away with the old man, she thinks I would come back here to finish the job. So why...” Ben took another juddering breath, and Callum then realised the odd note he’d been hearing in Ben’s voice was that of a man trying desperately to hold back tears of rage and frustration. “Why _don’t_ I just, just finish the job? Just end it, once and for all? I’m gonna get sent down once the Old Bill pin this on me anyway, why not make it worth it?”

Callum stayed silent, completely at a loss for what to say, his mind racing.

After a moment, Ben let out another burst of bitter laughter. “What, no words of wisdom? Wow, I’m that far gone, am I, I don’t even get the wise old guru act Bobby gets?”

“What do you want me to say?”

Ben twisted his head away with a grimace, shifting his whole body sideways to create space between them on the plastic seats that left them too close together. “I’m sorry. I am, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. Honestly, I was hoping you might _have_ something to say, because--” He let out another choking laugh. “I don’t know what the hell to do. I just want it over with,” he added, so quietly Callum had to strain to hear him.

“Why haven’t you done it, then?” said Callum eventually.

“Hmm?” Ben had his eyes half closed again, his body still held as far away as he could without actually falling off the chair, but his face was turned towards Callum. He was holding himself unnaturally still, like he was ready to bolt at any moment.

“I _know_ you didn’t hit your Dad, Ben. And with the head start you had on me, you must have been here half an hour or more before I got here. Plenty of time if you really wanted him dead.”

His eyes opened slowly, one after the other. He looked straight into Callum’s for a second; then turned away, as if it was too painful. The rhythmic beeping of the machines keeping Phil alive, the hiss of the breathing apparatus, all filled the room as silence stretched between them. That surreal feeling was surrounding Callum again, as though he were watching events unfold from somewhere far away. It didn’t seem real.

“It don’t matter,” said Ben, once the silence was almost on the point of unbearable.

“What?”

“It don’t matter, does it? No, it weren’t me that hit him yesterday. So what? Everyone thinks I did. I’ve wanted to - so, so many times. I used to fall asleep at night, dreaming of his death. So, this time it wasn’t me - so what? Next time, it could be. Why not today?”

“It matters, Ben,” said Callum with firm conviction, his voice barely shaking at all. “That’s thinking something, it ain’t doing it. You think I never dreamt about killing my old man?” he added, and his own question takes him by surprise. He’d meant to say it almost as a joke, a bit of black humour to lighten the atmosphere in the room, but it had somehow escaped his lips without the joking tone. It was a dark, shameful thought, long buried somewhere away from the light. But he too remembered lying awake at night, his mind filled with unbidden pictures of his father’s death, his funeral, the day where he just _wasn’t here any more_.

Ben scoffed but didn’t reply. “Do you know he left me stranded naked on a motorway once?” he said after a pause, sounding conversational, like they were two mates having a chat over a pint.

Callum’s brain seemed to freeze and all he could say was, “What?”

“Oh yeah. Few years ago. I’d screwed up - there was this a business deal, long story - and so he drove me out to the M1, forced me to take off all my clothes, then threw me out onto the central reservation. Completely starkers. All I could do was walk until the police picked me up.”

“Ben, that’s --”

“But that...that weren’t the worst of it,” Ben interrupted, apparently not wanting to hear Callum point out that the story was awful or terrible or whatever inadequate word he could come up with. “It weren’t the times he lost it or grabbed me or threatened me or whatever. I could live with that. It were the look in his eyes, ya know?”

Callum nodded. He did know.

“That look, _every_ single time he looked at me. That I was _wrong_. That I weren’t a Mitchell, weren’t a real man, weren’t...enough.

“No one would miss him,” Ben added, leaning his head back against the wall. “If he died. No one would care. They’d wear black at the funeral, and they’d probably cry a bit, but they wouldn’t _care_. Not really. They’d be glad. Sharon’s baby...it would grow up to be normal. He wouldn’t get the chance to screw it up like me.”

Callum crossed his arms and stretched out his long legs, thinking hard. Hearing Ben talk about his father was hitting him hard somewhere he didn’t even know existed, the cracked and bruised parts inside of him aching in sympathy, but he suspected now was not the time for soft words and gentle comfort. Ben needed shaking out of this spiral of self-pity.

“You won’t do it,” said Callum, firm and secure.

Ben’s eyes danced over to him. He looked oddly thrilled at Callum’s words. “Are you gonna stop me?”

“Yes. If I have to. But,” he added, sure of himself, “I won’t have to, you’re not going to do it. If you really wanted to, you’d have done it before I arrived.”

“Ah, but maybe I was just waiting for the right moment.”

Callum scoffed. “Okay, sure.”

“Besides,” said Ben. “You can’t sit around baby-sitting me all day.”

“Got nowhere else to be,” said Callum with a shrug, and had a brief moment of delight to see Ben look discomfited.

“You’ll need to go for a piss at some point, you’ve got a bladder like a walnut.”

Callum let out a genuine laugh at that, it coming up somewhere from his belly and shaking his whole body. “You’ve got me there,” he agreed, as solemn as he could, and a smile flickered across Ben’s face.

It was soon gone. However convinced Callum was that Ben _wasn’t_ going to kill his father as soon as Callum’s back was turned - and it maybe wasn’t the hundred percent conviction he was letting Ben believe - he still wouldn’t have left Ben alone in this state anyway. His body was so tense he almost looked as though he was about to vibrate off the chair.

“So who do you think did this, then?” Callum asked, matching Ben’s earlier conversational tone as he nodded towards an unconscious Phil.

Ben gave him an odd look, but answered anyway. “My Dad’s got a lot of enemies, Callum. Comes with the territory, being a Mitchell.” But there was something not quite right about the way he said it, the words sounding rehearsed or well-practised, said without feeling behind them.

“You mentioned Keanu earlier,” said Callum, watching him closely. “You can’t really think he could do this?”

That woke Ben up, his face twisting in anger. “Oh, but I could? He’s got motive, he’s got opportunity...” He started counting off on his fingers. “He had a fight with my Dad yesterday in the Vic, everyone saw it. He’s in the will, he gets thousands if my Dad dies, while I don’t get so much as a brass farthing. He works in the Arches too, and no one knows what Dad was doing in there - maybe he was meeting Keanu. But hey, point out these facts and everyone clutches their pearls and wets their knickers because _how_ could I be so evil as to possibly accuse poor, innocent _Keanu_ of something so awful. Meanwhile, everyone _I_ know--” and the voice was cracking now, angry frustration punctuating every syllable “--everyone I thought knew me best - is lining up to point the finger at me.

“And the worst part,” Ben continued, his eyes beginning to glisten a little now, his face turned away from Callum, “is that I get it. I do, I get it. If it were me, I’d think I did it too.”

Callum was still trying to work out the confused pronouns of the last sentence when Ben added abruptly, “You know I lied to you yesterday?”

Callum blinked, caught off guard and struggling a little to keep up. “Yesterday?”

“Keanu Taylor.” He drew out the name with disgust, like a Victorian aunt who’s just found something distasteful in her tea. “I lied to you yesterday. I went there to kill him.”

Well, it was the change of topic Callum had hoped for, but this one didn’t sound that much more promising either. “What do you mean?”

“I wanted to kill him. I told you I went there just to talk to him and we ended up having a punch up, but that ain’t true. I took a gun.”

“Where did you get a gun?” said Callum in surprise before he could help himself.

Ben turned full on in his seat to look at him. “Seriously? That is not the point of the story! And it’s always best not to ask questions like that.”

“Right, sorry.”

“Don’t apologise, for fuck’s sake!” Something seemed to have broken now, the dam that had been holding back the full force of Ben’s anger perhaps. He flung himself out of his chair and began to pace back and forth by the foot of his father’s bed, all wound-up energy. “Are you not getting this? I wanted to kill him. I took a gun, and I went to the Arches, and I was _desperate_ to kill him. To see his pretty little face smashed in and his brains splattered all over the walls. I wanted to put my hands around his neck--” He made a corresponding gesture, his pacing getting more frantic. “--until he begged for mercy, and then I wanted to see the light leave his eyes. So _don’t_ tell me I’m not capable of _this_!”

For a moment, Callum felt sick, his stomach clenching as the feeling rose in his throat. Then his brain caught up and he realised Ben was goading him, deliberately provoking him as far as he could. Why, Callum wasn’t sure - to make him leave? To convince Callum that he really was capable of killing his own father?

Or, perhaps, to convince himself.

“But you didn’t,” said Callum as calmly as he could, refusing to be wound up. “I saw Keanu the day after, all he had were a black eye.”

Ben paused in his pacing, coming to rest at the end of Phil’s bed. The machines continued to beep quietly, and for the first time Callum wondered if a nurse was about to appear any second to check on the patient. He was half torn between hoping it happened to distract Ben, or hoping it didn’t before Ben had calmed down.

The man in question rested his hands on the foot of the bed and glanced at the occupant before turning back to face Callum. “Yeah, well. He’s got a bit of muscle on me.” He slapped his belly to prove the point. “I don’t do hands on stuff with the cars much any more, I leave that to the grease monkeys.”

Callum shook his head. “Nah. You had a gun, if you really wanted him dead you’d have done it. There’s loads of ways you could’ve killed him before he even knew about it, if you’d really meant it.”

Ben stared at him incredulous, then began to laugh. “Oh, this is something you’ve given a lot of thought to, is it?”

“I was in the Army, Ben,” he snapped, neglecting to remind Ben that he’d been mainly in the kitchens. His own temper was beginning to rise in response to the atmosphere in the room, however hard he was trying to stay calm. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, either.”

Ben gave him a sideways look, clearly not buying it. 

“Look, you’re being ridiculous,” Callum continued, trying to keep his voice down but only succeeding in making it sound harsh as he hissed out the words. “Keanu ain’t dead, and you’re not gonna convince me you’d really have killed him.”

“Yeah, well,” said Ben with a dark look. “Maybe I got there and realised I didn’t fancy doing time for Keanu fucking Taylor.”

Callum nodded towards the bed, its occupant still breathing peacefully with the help of the machines. “But you’d do time for this?”

“Maybe _this_ would be worth it. They’d practically give me a medal.” Ben ran a hand through his hair in a frustrated gesture. “And I wouldn’t be stupid enough to stick around.”

“Oh, life on the run, that’s a great plan,” cried Callum, throwing up his arms in a gesture that was possibly a little more dramatic than he’d intended. “What about Lexi?”

Ben let out a deep sigh. He had stopped pacing, standing at the foot of Phil’s bed, and he turned to look at his father once more. “In the long run, she’d be better off without me,” he said in a small voice.

It shook Callum, diffusing the tension that had been building. For a moment, he was speechless, for there was a note in Ben’s voice that said he believed that somewhere, deep down. Then he found his voice again.

“I don’t believe that. And I don’t think you do either.”

Ben let out a noise that was half growl, half scream of frustration as he swung on his heel back towards Callum - who was glancing nervously at the door, sure the noise would bring a team of medical professionals down on them any second.

“Why are you here, Callum?” said Ben, his voice loud and high-pitched with frustration. “Why the fuck are you still here, talking to me about...any of this like it’s normal, like that’s just what people do?”

Callum paused, trying to think of the right answer; but he was saved from having to give it by the appearance of a nurse, as he’d feared. She stuck her head around the door and frowned at them; Ben still by the bed, vibrating with rage, Callum still on his chair on the other side of the room.

“Everything all right?” asked the nurse.

“Everything’s fine, so wind your neck in,” snapped Ben, returning to his seat and throwing himself into it with some force.

Callum winced. “Ben!”

The nurse entered the room, looking less than impressed with Ben’s attitude. “I’m just going to take some obs,” she said, picking up Phil’s chart and moving to the machines by the bed to jot down numbers.

Ben shifted in his seat next to Callum, his foot jiggling up and down, still full of nervous energy. After a moment, he leaned over so that his mouth was right next to Callum’s ear, and hissed;

“Do you want to know why I really came back here?”

His face was so close to Callum’s that he could feel his breath on his neck. Callum swallowed and asked, “Why?”

“To destroy him,” came the hissed reply.

Callum didn’t reply at first, his eyes on the nurse at Phil’s bedside. Both men watched as she finished filling in the chart before departing the room with a final suspicious glance.

Then Callum took a deep breath and asked, “What do you mean?” He was slightly nervous of the answer, but he wasn’t going to let Ben see that.

“I was going to take everything from him,” said Ben with a nasty sneer on his face. “Fleece him. Leave him broken and desperate. Then maybe he’d finally, _finally_ understand a little of how it feels. Lola’s in on it,” he added, while Callum was still trying to take all of this in.

“Lola?”

“You know he tried to take Lexi off of her?” Ben asked, eyes wild and with a glimmer of unfallen tears in them. “When I was in prison and Lexi was a baby, he tried to get custody, got the Social involved and everything. Lola don’t hate him like I do - no one does - but she were more than willing to get her hands dirty, help me bring him down. What does that tell you?”

Feeling the conversation was getting a bit one-sided and it was time he contributed more, Callum breathed deeply and began. “Look, it sounds like he’s done some pretty terrible things, I ain’t denying that, but--"

“Ya know,” said Ben, interrupting, “I sometimes think that _he_ thinks that if he keeps trying again, he’ll eventually get it right. He’ll get the perfect child he wanted instead of the messed up one he has. He took my sister off her mum, he took Jay off of Billy, he tried to take Lexi, then there’s Denny and Sharon’s new baby...”

“Wait, you think he’s trying to replace you or something? Ben, that’s--"

“You know what really gets me?” he asked, and Callum let out a grunt of frustration at being cut off again. “It weren’t that my Dad cut me out of the will, I expect that from him - but _Keanu_? He’s some chancer who knocked up my teenage sister first chance he got - and do y’know, he only went out with her in the first place because my dad paid him to--"

“Wait, what?”

“--and for that, he gets a spot at the table, a place in the will, thousands of pounds thrown at him. But me and Paul...” Ben stopped then, as though he’d finally run out of steam. Swallowing hard, he went on in a calmer voice. “When Paul died, Dad called him my ‘friend’. To my face, he said ‘your friend’. Even in death, even when I was bleeding my fucking heart out all over the living room floor because the man I loved had just _died_ , he couldn’t bring himself to acknowledge Paul as my boyfriend. No tasty little sum in the will for him, no buying him drinks in the Vic or inviting him to live with us.” A tear or two finally fell down his face from where they had been threatening to for the last ten minutes. In a quiet, broken voice, he said, “I’m never going to be enough for him.”

There was a long pause as Callum tried to marshal his thoughts. The beeping of the life support machines filled the silence around them. It and the familiar, hated hospital smell of sickness and disinfectant a constant reminder of where they were and what was at stake. Callum could hear the murmur of NHS staff talking in the corridor outside the room as he tried to put his own words into some sort of order.

“I haven’t spoken to my dad in years,” said Callum eventually. “Just...cut him out, one day. Stopped going home, stopped answering his calls. I thought it would be easier that way. But--” and it was a hard thing to admit, something he had never told anyone, even Chris “--he’s still here, in my head.” Callum reached up a hand to tap the side of his forehead. “Always has been. It’s like you said, it ain’t the drinking, or even when he used his fists or his belt, that weren’t the worst - it’s the things he said, them words that worm their way into your head. I can still hear them. His voice, telling me I’m a useless lump, or that I’m a freak or disgusting or good for nothing.”

“What’s your point?” Ben asked, but the tone was less unkind than Callum might have expected. “Want us to form some sort of club for gay sons of terrible fathers?”

Callum chuckled. “Don’t really know what my point is,” he admitted. “Except...cutting him out didn’t get rid of his voice in my head. Not sure anything ever will, but I’ve got better at ignoring it. You can destroy your dad if you want, Ben, you can kill him if you really want to - you were right, I can’t stop you. But it ain’t gonna make him go away. He’ll still be there, in your head.” He reached across to place a gentle hand on the side of Ben’s forehead, half expecting it to be batted away.

But Ben didn’t move, staring hard at Callum. “Any suggestions, then?” he asked, and the resigned, weary note in his voice broke Callum’s heart, just a little.

He didn’t have any suggestions though. He was still fighting all of this every day himself, if in a different way to Ben. Instead, his brain came up with a question. “Do you still love him?”

“What kind of question is that?” said Ben with a shaky laugh. After Callum failed to reply, he gave a small shrug as if to say _‘what can you do?’_ “Yeah. Course I do. Wish I didn’t. Wish he loved me back.” It sounded as if he was going for flippant with the last sentence, but too much had been said now. The tears still simmering in his eyes gave away just how true a statement it was.

Callum glanced at the bed. “I’m sure he does,” he said, though the surety was a lie - he knew very little about Phil and Ben’s relationship, his only contact with Phil had been taking the odd drink order in the Vic, and not all fathers loved their sons. Did his own father love him and Stuart? He’d never been quite sure about that. In darker moments he wondered if Jonno was capable of loving anyone, unless a desire to control someone was a kind of love. His optimistic nature couldn’t help but hope that the Jonnos of this world were few and far between though, and that Phil was a different breed. Besides, his gut said it was what Ben needed to hear.

“But it ain’t up to you to change it,” Callum continued, and he was on firmer ground here. He knew it, logically, to be the truth, even if he wasn’t always able to practice what he was about to preach and keep his own father’s judgemental voice out of his head. “You don’t need to become someone else. You shouldn’t need to earn his love. He’s your Dad, he should love you no matter what, and if he don’t, that’s his problem, not yours. And he should love you, Ben, because who you are is amazing.”

His voice cracked on the last word as he said it, and he dropped his hand, embarrassment flooding through him.

For a second or two, it was as though the world had stopped. Acutely aware of how close together they were on the plastic hospital chairs, Callum waited, nerves and adrenalin pulsing through him, as Ben stared in what looked like shock and disbelief. After a moment, Ben lurched forward in an involuntary movement, looking almost like he was moving in for a kiss, before stopping himself and pulling back. He moved his hands back and forth instead in an unconscious, fist-like gesture as though he didn’t know what to do with them.

“Not sure many round here would agree with you,” he said eventually, and the words came with a sort of hiccupping laugh.

Callum shook his head. “That’s not true. Lexi would, for a start.”

Ben made a face. “The exception that proves the rule.” He rolled his head back towards the wall again and closed his eyes, letting out his breath in a deep sigh as his shoulders dropped. “I just...want it to be over.”

“Then end it,” said Callum, shrugging. “Let go of the hate.”

“What if I can’t?” It came out small and shaky.

Callum didn’t really have an answer for that, his words of wisdom dried up. He knew it was easier said than done.

Ben opened his eyes and turned his head, meeting Callum’s gaze full on with a hard stare that made the blood rush to Callum’s cheeks again. “Why are you here?” he asked. There was still an edge to the voice, but he also sounded genuinely curious. “Really?”

“I told you already. I was worried, I wanted to see if you’re okay.”

“And what if I’m not? I nearly...” He trailed off, waving a hand at the bed where Phil still lay, unconscious and oblivious.

“But you didn’t,” said Callum, as firmly as he could. “You’re not a killer, Ben.”

Ben gave that shaky, spluttering noise again, the one that was more tears than laughter. “You think so, do you.”

“Yeah. I do.” Feeling he needed to make the atmosphere a little less tense again, Callum finally broke the look they’d been sharing and shifted in his seat, turning his head away. “Look, have you eaten anything today? We could go to the canteen, get some cake?”

Ben continued to stare at him. Then he began to laugh again, laughter with an edge of hysteria and tears in it, before suddenly - and to Callum’s great surprise - throwing himself at Callum for a hug, his arms coming round to form an embrace while he nosed his head into Callum’s collarbone like a child seeking comfort. In shock, Callum automatically moved to provide it, one arm circling Ben’s back while the other rested on the back of his head, gently stroking the hair there.

They sat like that for some minutes, Callum acutely aware his neck was getting damp with Ben’s tears, but making no comment on it. He had a sense of déjà vu - they’d been here, in this same position, Ben’s tears on his shirt collar just a couple of weeks ago - but somehow this felt different. That other hug had only been accepted after resistance, Ben keeping the walls up between them. This one had been started by Ben. After everything, it felt as though the walls were finally down.

Eventually, a small voice spoke from the vague direction of Callum’s torso.

“Can we go home now?”

Callum pressed a quick kiss to the head resting on his chest, damp with sweat and tears. “Of course.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for a bit of ableist language in this chapter (because no one hates Ben as much as Ben hates himself).

**Wednesday 31 July, continued**

Callum took him back to the Vic. It hadn’t been his original intention, but Ben had stumbled out of the taxi at the top of Bridge Street and looked around him with a dazed expression. It was the same one he had worn throughout the journey from the hospital, not speaking and looking kind of lost, as though he wasn’t sure how he’d got here. So, making up his mind, Callum had turned in the direction of the Vic’s back door with one hand on the small of Ben’s back; and Ben had followed him in as if he were sleepwalking.

Callum steered them both into his bedroom once they’d reached the top of the stairs. Ben sat heavily down on the bed, and Callum then froze in horror where he stood, blood rushing to his face. He’d brought them in there instead of the living room for privacy; it looked like all the Carters were either downstairs in the bar or out altogether, but you never knew when one of them would reappear. It was only once they were both there in the bedroom together, Ben in - or rather _on_ \- his bed for the first time, that Callum realised that his intentions could be easily misinterpreted, even though that had been the furthest thing from his mind. All he’d wanted to do was give Ben somewhere for a bit of peace and quiet while he sorted his head out.

Ben though still seemed to be dazed and not his usual self, sitting in silence; there wasn’t even a hint of a quip about the fact he’d found himself on Callum’s bed.

Keeping his distance and standing near the door, Callum asked, “Do you fancy a cup of tea? Something to eat?” It was the first thing either of them had said since leaving the hospital, and he winced at how high-pitched and nervous his voice sounded to his own ears.

Ben didn’t react however. Nodding slowly, he requested just the tea, please, a hint of a smile on his face.

It was a relief to stand in the empty kitchen for a moment while the kettle boiled and finally take some deep breaths after all the high-running emotion of the afternoon. It had seemed surreal to Callum even as it was happening; now, it felt even more like a dream, fading into unreality as he tried to keep hold of it. He stood in the Carters’ kitchen with unfocused eyes and a blank mind, staring at the wall tiles until the kettle boiled and shocked him out of his daze.

Returning to the bedroom with a cup of tea carefully balanced in each hand, he began to speak as he pushed open the door with his shoulder.

“I forgot to ask how you like it, I’ve only seen you drink coffee, but I can run back and get some sugar if you--”

He trailed off, starting guiltily at the sight of Ben crashed out on the bed, still fully dressed down to his shoes, eyes shut and clearly fast asleep. There was just enough space on the other side of the bed for Callum to sit and he did so, stretching out his long legs as he shuffled into place, taking care not to wake the sleeper.

He watched Ben for a few minutes while he sipped his tea. Then he decided this was possibly a little bit creepy so got out his phone instead.

It was an hour, maybe more, before Ben stirred, but Callum had been sneaking constant glances in his direction throughout and was quick to react. He pulled out the earphones he’d been using to watch videos on his phone and gave Ben a ‘welcome back’ smile.

Ben’s eyes flickered open, blinking in the confused way of the nearly awake. Then he rolled back from where he’d been curled up at Callum’s side, pushing himself up into a half-seated position.

“All right?” he said cautiously.

Callum nodded back. “All right? Your tea’s gone cold, sorry. I can make you another one?”

“How long was I asleep?” Ben asked, ignoring the question, bleary-eyed and still looking somewhat confused.

“Not that long, don’t worry.”

“Sorry.” Ben pushed himself up further, so he was sitting upright against the headboard, and shot Callum a sheepish look. “Didn’t get much sleep last night. Police cells ain’t exactly known for their comfort.”

“It’s really not a problem,” said Callum, shaking his head and smiling. He’d feared that Ben might wake up and immediately leg it out of the room in one of those abrupt turnarounds he’d done before; but his visitor seemed quite relaxed, not making any motions towards leaving. “Did you want that tea?”

Ben hesitated for a moment, observing Callum from under his eyebrows. He was still blinking furiously, as though trying to clear his vision. “Nah, you’re all right,” he said eventually. “Glass of water, though?”

Callum suppressed the wide grin that threatened to blossom on his face, but couldn’t help the inner rush of relief that Ben seemed willing to stay where he was. “No problem.”

When he returned to the bedroom with two glasses of water, Ben was still there. The blinking was even more rapid now though, and he was shaking his head from side to side like a dog trying to get water out of its ears.

“Everything all right?” Callum asked as he handed over Ben’s water, a little alarmed but trying not to show it.

“Yeah,” said Ben, sounding grumpy. “It’s just...I’ve slept with my contacts in again. I’ve had these in since yesterday morning. Eyes are so dry I can hardly see. Hang on a sec--” He reached both hands up towards his face, then turned and gave Callum an apologetic look. “This is going to be really gross, sorry.”

“I can handle gross,” said Callum, amused, but he moved away anyway and returned to his own side of the bed while Ben removed his lenses, one by one, and threw them in the vague direction of the wastepaper bin.

“That’s better,” said Ben with a sigh of relief. He picked his water back up and glanced back at Callum, looking almost relaxed. “I mean, everything’s blurry as hell, but ain’t like I’ve got far to go, is it?”

Callum smiled. “I didn’t know you wore contacts.”

“Yeah, well, now you know. Blind as a bat, that’s me.” He had tensed up again, his face set hard. “Deaf in one ear too, got a problem with it?”

“No,” said Callum simply. He wanted to laugh out loud, the idea that he _would_ have a problem with it was so ridiculous. “Of course not. Would love to see you wearing glasses one day though,” he added, almost without thinking.

It seemed to be the right thing to say however. Ben’s face softened. The flirty tone to his voice was back as well as he replied, “Not many people get the chance to see that, babe, but hey, you play your cards right...”

They smiled at each other, both ducking their heads away though a split second later, as though looking into each other’s eyes right then was just that bit too much.

They sat together without speaking for a moment after that, both drinking their water in silence. Callum was at a total loss of what to say. He didn’t know whether to bring up any of what had happened at the hospital or if it was better to wait for Ben to raise it, but his mind was blank on any other topics of conversation right now either. The situation wasn’t helped by the fact that Callum’s body was reacting to Ben in close proximity as it always did, goosebumps prickling his flesh. It was completely inappropriate and thoroughly inconvenient right now, but was also helping to do a very good job of driving all other thoughts out of his head.

It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence though, more companionable than anything, but Callum suspected it would become awkward quite quickly if neither of them said anything soon.

It was Ben who finally broke the silence. “I didn’t know this was your room.”

Callum glanced around as though the walls would give him some clue as to how to respond to this random statement but drew a blank. “Oh, right...um...”

“It was my room, back when,” said Ben casually. “Back when I was a kid, I mean.”

It was a bit more information, but only succeeded in adding to Callum’s confusion. “Oh, so you, um...? Wait--"

“My family used to own this pub,” Ben explained, turning to look at him. “Did no one tell you that?”

“No, I didn’t know.”

“Oh, yeah, there was always Mitchells running this place for years. I grew up here - well, sort of.” He rolled his eyes and made a face at Callum, bringing him into the joke. “It’s complicated. Dad was always moving us in and out when he fell out with Gran, or he met some new woman, but I always thought of this place as home. While Gran was here, anyway,” he added, and a wistful look fell over his face.

“So this was your childhood bedroom?” said Callum. It was an odd thought. He glanced around the room again, trying but failing to imagine a young Ben in it, wondering what he’d been like.

“Yeah. Well, partly, more teenager than childhood really, and I moved rooms once or twice, but yeah. I was pretty miserable here most of the time,” he added in a small voice. “There was this one time, Dad... Anyway.” He seemed to snap himself out of whatever mood he was in, and twisted back towards Callum again, turning himself back into cocky, confident Ben like he’d flipped a switch. “Some good memories too - watching my films, listening to my music... And I’d never have admitted this to anyone, I wouldn’t even have admitted it to myself back then, but I always dreamed of one day having a fit, gorgeous bloke in my bed.”

He gave Callum the filthiest of looks as he said it. Callum rolled his eyes in response but had to duck his head down to hide his pleased smile.

Until, that is, Ben added, “Shame I’m still waiting, innit?”

“Oi!” said Callum, kicking out with his foot to shove at Ben’s leg while Ben fell back laughing. “This is _my_ bed now, all right? So behave.”

Ben held his hands up in mock apology, still smiling. “Just a joke!” He was silent for a moment as they looked at each other. Then Ben’s gaze fell and he began to pick at the pillowcase beneath him.

“You really didn’t believe I’d done it, did you?” he asked, though the question was directed to the duvet they were sitting on. “Attacked my Dad.”

“No,” said Callum firmly.

Ben raised his head to meet Callum’s eyes. “Why not? Everyone else does.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” said Callum, repeating his words from the hospital.

“You know I’ve got previous,” said Ben, pressing the issue. “You know I’m capable. And you _know_ I’ve got enough reasons to hate my Dad, you more than anyone.”

Callum shrugged. “You’re not a killer, Ben.”

Ben stared at him for a moment, looking like he was trying to work something out. Then his shoulders sagged as he said, “And you know that for a fact, do you?”

“Yes. I do.”

Ben shook his head in a disbelieving gesture, a small smile hovering around his lips. “How?”

“I just do.”

He held Ben’s gaze for a long pause, heart hammering in his chest and hoping that Ben wouldn’t ask for further elaboration; he couldn’t put it into words if he tried. But his faith in the man opposite had been a bone-rooted certainty from start to finish. Whatever else Ben might be capable of, he hadn’t done this.

The moment dragged on. Silent seconds ticked by before Ben’s eyes dropped down towards Callum’s lips; only for a moment, but clear as day. Callum held his breath, waiting, aware that this was the worst time and place for inappropriate thoughts, but unable to stop his mind running away with them anyway. Head swimming, he honestly wasn’t sure how he’d have responded if Ben had moved closer.

But in the end Ben made the choice for him anyway, pulling away and reaching for his phone. “I should...I should text Lola, let her know I’m not dead. And more importantly, neither’s Dad,” he added with a twisted smile, turning the mobile on. “Turned it off in the hospital,” he said in way of explanation, gesturing with the phone in his hand. “Lo wouldn’t stop calling.”

Callum nodded, trying to look calm and casual, though his heart was going nineteen to the dozen and his palms were sweaty. He tried surreptitiously to wipe them on his jeans while Ben checked his texts with a furrowed brow.

“Everything okay?”

Ben grunted, raising his phone to his right ear. “I’ve got a voicemail...” He listened for a moment, then whatever it was he was hearing made him sit bolt upright and plant his feet on the floor. “It’s Dad, he’s awake...I need to get back to the hospital.” He scrambled off the bed and started peering closely at the furniture around him as though searching for something.

“But that’s brilliant news!” said Callum, getting up as well.

“Uh, yeah,” said Ben distractedly, touching the jacket he was wearing and looking down at it as though he’d forgotten he'd never taken it off.

"He'll be able to tell the police who attacked him, you’re off the hook!”

Ben stopped and looked back across the bed at Callum. Then he seemed to collapse in a little on himself, as though the strings holding him upright had been cut. A look passed across his face that might have been unreadable to most people, but Callum was getting the hang of reading him now; it was mainly relief, though possibly mixed with some other emotions as well. Callum couldn’t help beaming at him, and a smile crept back across Ben’s face in return.

“That’s a point,” he said quietly. “Look, I’d better go, I need to get my glasses from home and grab a taxi...”

“Do you want me to come with you?” Callum winced at himself almost as soon as the words escaped his lips. There he went, assuming too much again.

But Ben’s face went soft as he looked at him, head tilted slightly to one side and eyes bright - if squinting slightly due to the lack of contact lenses. “No, you’re all right,” he said, but not in a harsh way. “It’s family, you know? I don’t want to inflict my lot on you. Besides, there’ll be too many of us crammed in there as it is.”

Callum nodded. “All right, well, text me and let me know how you got on, all right?”

Ben had moved around the bed in the direction of the door as they were talking, and now paused directly in front of Callum, looking up at him from his shorter height. “Look...I were thinking...” he said, a note of hesitation clear in his voice. “Maybe...I could come back here afterwards? And we could talk? Or not,” he added hastily as Callum failed to respond, head now down and addressing the carpet. “Stupid idea, forget it--”

“No, no!” said Callum, flapping his hands in a ‘ _I didn’t mean that_ ’ gesture; he’d been too shocked to reply at first. “That would be great, come straight back here. I want you to.”

“I’ve taken up a lot of your day already--”

“Don’t matter. I ain’t got anywhere to be.”

They exchanged smiles. Then Ben stepped forward, and to Callum’s surprise, he hooked a hand around the back of Callum’s head and pulled it down towards him so he could place a soft and gentle kiss on Callum’s cheek.

“Thank you,” he said, before leaving with hasty footsteps.

* * *

The wait for Ben to return was interminable. Callum mooched around the upstairs flat for an hour or so but found it impossible to concentrate on anything. He watched a quiz show for half an hour to show willing, but couldn’t have told you who won or what any of the questions were. Eventually, he tried heading downstairs for a drink to settle his nerves, but that wasn’t much of a distraction either; spotting him from behind the bar, Mick caught him in order to let him know that Shirley had had a call from Sharon to let her know Phil was awake and talking, and that all the family, including Ben, were at the hospital now. Mick’s friendly, unjudgmental assumption that he had an emotional stake in the news was almost too much to bear. He had no idea what to say in response, not wanting to betray Ben by revealing any of the day’s events. Instead, he thanked Mick, downed the rest of his pint as quickly as he could and headed upstairs again.

The butterflies in his stomach were flapping around like they were in a hurricane. He didn’t want to think too hard about why that might be. But deep down, he knew why; today had felt momentous, a point from which there was no turning back. He didn’t want to put too much faith in it though, or look at it too closely, out of fear it might slip through his fingers yet again. He knew he sometimes built things up in his head that failed on contact with reality.

Linda had arrived home after picking Ollie up from a neighbour, as he discovered when he got to the top of the stairs, and was crashing around in the kitchen while she cooked the boy his tea. Really not in the mood for talking, Callum headed back to his room with an amused reflection that he’d never spent so much time there in 24 hours since the day he’d moved in.

Not wanting to read or listen to music or do anything at all really, he lay on his bed and tried, unsuccessfully, to stop his imagination running away with him as he waited for Ben to return. He had almost fallen asleep himself by the time the text finally came through.

_Leaving the hospital now. You still up for me coming back to yours?_

With stumbling fingers, he quickly tapped out a reply.

_Please do! Look forward to seeing you. x_

After a moment’s hesitation, he followed it up with another one.

_Have you eaten? I could get us something?_

The reply came back almost instantly.

_STARVING._

It was followed by a string of fruit and vegetable emojis, including a couple that even Callum knew had a double meaning. It made him smile and then frown, unsure what Ben had meant by sending them or if he was being messed with.

Ollie was already in bed but Linda was in the sitting room, watching TV with her feet up as Callum poked his head around the door to say he had a friend coming over and was he all right to use the kitchen for a while?

Linda’s face lit up with interest. “Ooh! Very nice, who’s the lucky fella?”

“Um...it’s Ben, actually. He’s been at the hospital, I said he could come round.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh.” It was a pointed _oh_ , an _oh_ with a lot of meaning behind it. “Are you and Ben...good friends then, or...?”

“Yes,” he said simply. “Is that okay?”

“Well, it’s none of my business, Halfway,” she said with a huffed, slightly awkward laugh. “This is your home, you can have any of your friends round.” She paused for a moment; then, “I don’t suppose it would make any difference if I told you he’s trouble? That whole family are.”

“Aren’t you best friends with Ben’s step-mum?” Callum asked, before beating a hasty retreat to the kitchen at the sight of her affronted face.

He decided to knock together some pasta, simple and easy. A part of him wanted to make something more impressive, but there would - hopefully, one day - be a time and a place for that. He could be a clumsy cook when he was nervous, there was already a high chance he’d drop a pan of boiling water on his foot; he really didn’t need the added pressure of trying cook something he hadn’t made a thousand times before.

Chris used to be frustrated and amused by it in equal measure. Callum paused, the fridge door half open and throwing light on his face, to remember Chris for a moment; trying to look annoyed at the latest kitchen mishap, but there’d always be a twinkle in his eye and a smile on his lips he couldn’t hold back. Would Chris be okay with what had happened today, with Ben? Probably not. He’d been as straight as they come - in the other sense of the word, anyway - and would probably be horrified at the thought of Callum waiting eagerly for someone who’d displayed the kind of darkness Ben had today.

But that was okay, Callum realised to himself. He didn’t need Chris’s (imagined) approval. He didn’t need Linda’s approval, or anyone else’s who would most likely have an opinion on it. It might be the wrong choice, but it was _his_ choice to make.

Besides which, every instinct he had was telling him it wasn’t wrong at all. Everyone has some kind of darkness inside them. He’d seen Ben’s today; but he’d seen the other side of Ben too, the Ben who gave him butterflies and always made him eager to see more.

He’d become absorbed in his cooking as he always did by the time the sauce was bubbling away and the pasta was on; these were the dangerous times, when he’d been known to knock an entire tray of raw chicken onto the floor, or that incident with the salt that still made him wince. He was so absorbed, he failed to hear the footsteps on the landing. The first he knew of Ben’s appearance was a voice, sounding more cheerful than it had all day.

“A man who can cook!” Callum turned around to see Ben stepping down into the kitchen, an amused smirk on his face. “Don’t know how I managed to deserve that. That smells amazing.”

Callum probably should have responded in kind, making a light-hearted, self-deprecating quip about his own cooking, or stepping forward to greet Ben and take his jacket. But his mind had gone completely blank and he could only stare, speechless, at the sight in front of him.

Ben paused and looked self-conscious, reaching one hand up to touch the black-rimmed glasses he was wearing. “Oh. Right, yeah, these.” The awkwardness passed and he quickly regained his usual swagger, making a slightly camp gesture as he waved one hand over his spectacles and grinned. “Your wish is my command and all that, hope it lives up to expectations.”

“Uh, yeah,” said Callum, his brain still frozen. “You look good.” His face started to feel hot and his hands awkward as he remembered the spoon he was holding. He turned back quickly to stir the sauce, wishing desperately his reaction had been a little less obvious. By the way Ben was smiling at him though, it didn’t seem to be the end of the world.

Ben pulled out a seat at the kitchen table with a flourish, before hanging his jacket over the back of it and taking a seat.

“How’s Phil?” Callum asked, turning back to him and hoping his face wasn’t as bright red as it still felt.

“Good,” said Ben with a shrug. “Awake. Talking. They think he’s gonna be all right. I’m still top of the Old Bill’s list of suspects though.” He said the last part in the light, sarcastic tone he used when he was talking about something that was that little bit too real and painful, and Callum’s mouth dropped open in surprise.

“But--"

“He don’t remember a thing,” said Ben, still with that same mocking cadence to his voice. “Complete blank. _And_ Keanu’s alibi has come through, apparently - he were sorting a breakdown - so that’s my day completely ruined.”

“Ben,” warned Callum, shaking his head at him.

“What? I’m not saying I definitely thought he did it, I’m just saying, you know, it would have been nice if people were pointing fingers at Mr Perfect for a while instead of the usual suspect.” He gestured at himself.

Callum was still shaking his head, but there wasn’t really a lot he could say. He tried his best though. “Your Dad’s bound to be a bit confused when he first wakes up, he might remember in time. I’m sure it’ll all be okay.”

Ben raised his eyebrows at him in dark amusement. “Well, we’ll see, won’t we?”

Callum turned his attention back to the stove, checking the pasta though it was nowhere near ready. “I hope pasta’s okay,” he called over his shoulder.

“More than okay, especially if it’s nearly ready. My stomach’s reminding me I ain’t eaten properly since yesterday.”

Callum flashed him a quick smile before moving across the kitchen to get plates out of the cupboard.

“So, I, uh..” He turned at the sound of Ben’s voice. Ben’s head was downcast, watching his own hands as they fidgeted on top of the kitchen table. “I, uh, wanted to say sorry. All that at the hospital.”

“It’s okay,” said Callum, trying to convey through his tone that they really didn’t need to talk about it if Ben didn’t want to.

“No, it ain’t,” said Ben quietly, before raising his head to meet Callum’s eyes. “That was all my shit I dumped on you, you really didn’t need that. I was trying to keep you away from all of that because. Well.” He took a deep breath and that shy smile, the one that made Callum’s head feel a bit giddy, crept onto his face. “I like you.”

“Yeah?” said Callum, and he couldn’t have stopped himself from beaming if he’d tried.

“Yeah. I can see where you might have been a bit confused about that,” said Ben with a grimace, “so just wanted to clear that up. But...” His face fell again, and his gaze went back to his hands, still clasped together in front of him. “I am so messed up, Callum. You don’t know the half of it. It was true, what I said - I came back here to destroy Dad, it’s the only reason I’m back in Walford. And once I’d fleeced him, I was gonna take the money and go, never come back here again.”

Checking the sauce wasn’t in danger of burning before leaving it, Callum took a seat at the kitchen table opposite Ben, thinking hard.

“That explains a lot,” he said dryly. And it did, it confirmed everything he’d been convinced of ever since Pride. He’d known Ben felt something for him but had been running scared for some reason, and here was the reason in black and white. It was something of a relief, to be honest. Callum knew he wasn’t alone in his feelings for Ben, but it was still nice to hear it out loud.

Ben took a deep, juddering breath before meeting Callum’s eyes again. “I don’t wanna do that any more,” he said quietly. “Seeing Dad lying there in that hospital bed, someone else hating him enough to do that... Bit of a wake up call. I want to stay and try to make things right - to be a good son, a good brother, a good dad to Lexi.”

“Anything else?” asked Callum, hoping his voice wouldn’t crack on the question, not wanting to sound too invested in the answer. It was most likely too presumptuous to assume he might also factor into Ben’s reasons to stay in Walford, but he couldn’t help the hope that glowed in his chest at the thought.

Ben smiled again, and it was the smile rather than the words that gave Callum his answer. “That rather depends on you.”

“I want to try,” said Callum, and screw it, who cared if he sounded too eager. “You and me.” They grinned shyly at each other across the table, and Callum felt the heat rise in his chest and expand until it filled every part of him. “Let’s not, like, rush into anything,” he added, “we can take it slow, yeah?”

Ben raised an eyebrow, the smirk reappearing. “What, unlike the night we met, you mean?” He laughed as Callum rolled his eyes, knowing he was blushing yet again, before becoming serious once more. “You’re too good for me, Callum. But if you know that, and you’re still okay with it...” He held his head on one side, scrunching up his face as he pretended to consider it. “I guess we could try.”

The kitchen table was too wide to lean across for a kiss without looking ridiculous, though Callum was seriously tempted for a moment. Instead, still smiling, Ben reached across and held out his hand. Callum leaned forward and placed his own hand on top of Ben’s; then Ben covered it with his other hand, rubbing his thumb over the back of Callum’s wrist, turning it into another gesture altogether, something more intimate. It felt like a promise.

“Your pasta’s boiling over.”

Lost in a haze of happiness, it took a moment for Ben’s words to sink in. Then Callum swore and leapt up from his chair, knocking it over the process, and ran to the stove while Ben’s joyful laughter echoed behind him.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have just posted three chapters together, and one a few days ago - please make sure you’re starting from the beginning of the new chapters! (Chapter 13, or Chapter 12 if you missed Wednesday’s update.)
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who’s left kudos or comments on this weird little fic, and thank you even more if you stuck with it and read this far to the end despite the six-month break in the middle.

**A significant period of time later**

Callum didn’t know what to do with his hands. He wasn’t the only one, he noticed, glancing round at the other occupants of the waiting room. Most people there were staring into space with a bored, vacant, seen-it-all-before expression, but there were a few there who looked as nervous as Callum felt, rubbing their hands back and forth or drumming noisy fingers on the plastic seats.

Finally came the call that they were ‘ready for you now’, and the whole group rose almost as one to make their way into the prison visiting room. There was a rush for the tables in the middle of the room, furthest away from the guards, leaving Callum behind to seat himself at one of the less popular tables and wait, the nerves hammering in his ribcage.

He let out an exhale of breath as Stuart finally swung into view. His eyes lit up at seeing Callum; then he fell back, eyes nervous and his chest slumping as though someone had knocked the air out of him. Realising it was going to have to be him that made the first move, Callum held out his arms as they approached each other. After a split second of hesitation from Stuart - possibly in disbelief - he quickly found himself wrapped in the biggest bear hug known to man, Stuart squeezing him fiercely until there was serious danger of an oxygen shortage.

“All right, that’s enough of that,” a guard called across to them, and he finally let go, beaming from ear to ear as they took their seats across the table.

“It’s so good to see you, bruv,” said Stuart, the smile never wavering. “I were made up when I got your letter, weren’t sure you were ever gonna talk to me again.” He laughed at this, but in a way that wasn’t particularly funny.

Callum did his best to smile, nerves still twisting. “How are you, Stu? You’re looking well...”

“Can’t complain, can’t complain. Well, you can, but what’s the point? Five more weeks and I’m out of here. Anyway, forget me, bruv, tell me all about you! I can’t believe you’re working for Mick, how is the old git?”

Stuart was clearly nervous too, barely pausing for breath, his voice slightly manic. So Callum swallowed his own fear and told him all about Mick and Linda, the Carters and the Vic and Walford until the tension eased and the air started to feel almost normal.

“I ain’t gonna stay there forever though,” said Callum once he’d run out of things to say. “I wanna do something with my life, you know? Something proper, that helps people.” He stopped at that, worried that it might sound like a dig, sat where they were.

But Stuart was nodding eagerly, his face flushed. “ _Course_ you do. Cos that’s you all over, ain’t it, bruv? One of the good ones. A hero.”

Callum winced hearing it, wanting to argue and protest the label, but holding his tongue. His big brother had never seen him as the person he actually was, had he?

“Nah, I’m not,” he said quietly instead. “I ain’t quite decided yet, but, well...” He took a deep breath and plunged on. “Last couple of months, I’ve been volunteering at this charity - they work with young people coming out the nick, help them adjust and find work or training and all that. There’s this kid called Bobby, you see...well, it’s a long story, don’t matter. But anyway, they’re a great crowd, and they said that there’s a couple of paid jobs coming up that I should think about applying for. They might even pay for me to do this counselling course.”

He waited for the explosion, or the laughter, or the puzzled look, or even ‘Counselling? Bit gay, innit?’ But none of the above. Stuart’s face didn’t change. Instead, he started to nod again, looking earnest.

“Yeah...yeah! You’d be so good at that. There’s, uh...” He looked embarrassed now, running one finger along the collar of his prison-issued T-shirt. “There’s this group I go to here. NA, y’know. And there’s this bloke who runs it - he ain’t one of us, he comes in special - and he reminds me of you a bit. Right do-gooder.”

Callum sat in shock, not knowing how to respond. It wasn’t the reaction he’d expected. Then Stuart’s actual words filtered further into his brain, and he found himself asking, “NA? Ain’t that, like...”

“Drugs and stuff, yeah.” He was definitely looking embarrassed now, his eyes not meeting Callum’s.

“So, you’re...so you’ve had some problems with...?”

“I did. I do. I ain’t touched anything in years, bruv, but I’ll always be an addict, that’s what they teach you.”

Callum stared for a moment, unable to wrap his head around this; not so much the revelation, it made _total_ sense when you thought about it, but more the timing of it. Why was he telling him now?

“See, you ain’t the only one with secrets, bruv,” said Stuart, finally raising his head to meet Callum in the eye. “They’re big on honesty. In the group. And, like, confronting your own mistakes. So, I wanted to say sorry. Cos the last time you were here...Well, I’ve had some time to think about it. And I reckon I was a bit out of order. Who you choose to...I mean, who you...” He waved both hands in the air in a vague gesture, searching desperately for the words, and Callum decided to help him out.

“You mean me being gay.”

“Right. That.” Stuart took a deep breath. “Ain’t none of my business, is it, really? So, I’m sorry, bruv. I just want us to be brothers again.”

He looked up at Callum with eyes that looked suspiciously on the verge of tears, and Callum swallowed around the sudden lump in his own throat. “It’s all right, Stu,” he said, putting all the conviction into his voice he could muster. “We were never not brothers, were we, mate? Come on.”

Stuart nodded, still looking overcome. “I...I’m so sorry about your friend. The one who died.”

“My boyfriend,” said Callum pointedly, still testing the waters. But Stuart seemed genuine as he nodded again.

“Right. Your boyfriend. I’m really sorry, mate, wish I’d been there.”

It was definitely a start. Callum smiled, a warmer and realer smile than he’d managed since his arrival as he felt some of the tension melt out of his chest. “Actually...there was something else I wanted to tell you. Didn’t want to put it in a letter. I’ve, er, I’ve met someone.”

“Oh, right?” said Stuart, looking interested. Then a realisation seemed to hit him and he began to bluster. “Oh, _right_! You mean you’ve met a bloke. Of course you’ve met a bloke, that’s fine - that’s brilliant! What’s he like? Can I meet him?”

“He’s...” Callum paused. He’d rehearsed this conversation a thousand times on the way over, and he still hadn’t found quite the words to describe Ben. “He’s full of life. More full of life than anyone I’ve ever met. He just...fizzes with it, it’s like electricity. And he’s funny and warm and loyal...” He trailed off there, ducking his head down, aware that he was probably going bright red.

But Stuart was still grinning at him in a rather intense way. “Listen to you! Proper smitten, ain’t ya? Can’t wait to meet the lucky fella!”

“Yeah, all right, Stu,” said Callum, still blushing and aware that a couple of other tables were glancing over in curiosity at Stuart’s raised voice.

“Sorry, bruv.” He deflated in one of those mood swings that Callum had never quite been able to keep up with. “I’m being a bit much, ain’t I?”

“A little bit.”

“I just...I want you to know that I’m happy for you, honest.” He reached out a hand across the table and rested it on top of Callum’s own.

“It’s funny,” said Callum quietly. “I’ve never felt like I’ve fitted in anywhere, like I was always searching for my place, ya know? But with Ben, and his family, and the friends I’ve made in Walford, it feels like I’ve found it, the place where I fit.”

It felt surreal to say it out loud, like he’d stepped into a daydream of his own making, though his imaginings had never been as easy as this. Callum turned his palm upwards and squeezed his brother’s fingers before quickly letting go, dropping his hands back into his lap. They both then glanced around at the surrounding tables in unison, embarrassed by their display of brotherly love; some habits die hard.

“So...five weeks?” asked Callum, needing to change the subject. “You said they’re letting you out in five weeks, they’ve said that?”

“Yep! Well, provided I don’t do anything stupid between now and then - and you know me, bruv, it’s a possibility - I’m out of here on the 22nd next month. I, uh...” He looked awkward again, dropping his gaze back down to the table. “Had a chat with my support worker the other day. Told them I had nowhere to go. They’re gonna look into finding me somewhere to stay, hostel or B&B or something to start with. So, y’know, that’s good.”

Callum looked at his brother - at the bloodshot but earnest eyes, the slightly manic grin - and knew there was only one thing he could ever say. “Why don’t you come back to Walford with me?”

His face lit up, but only for the briefest moment. “Nah, you don’t want me cramping your style, mate.”

“You won’t be. Look, me and Ben are moving into our own place in a couple of weeks --” He saw Stuart’s eyes brighten and his mouth open, and Callum hastened to clarify before any hasty assumptions were made. “--so why don’t I have a word with Mick, see if he’d let you stay in my old room at the Vic? You and him go back a long way, I’m sure he’d be up for it.”

If he was a better person, he’d maybe have offered Stuart the sofa in their tiny new flat but he wasn’t the saint both Ben and Stuart sometimes seemed to think he was. They were moving out so they could have their own space; to avoid Ian’s pointed comments about people who seemed to have practically moved in but weren’t contributing to the bills in any way; to avoid Ben and Shirley’s awkward glares and needling little digs over breakfast in the flat above the pub. Adding in a brother who could be...volatile at best seemed to rather defeat the purpose of the move. And entirely selfishly, he wanted Ben all to himself.

Stuart looked uncertain for a moment, folding his arms around his body as he looked towards the far wall.

“And if not, I could ask around,” Callum added, “I’m sure we could find you a place somewhere nearby.” A voice inside his head was prodding him to go further and make the offer of their own sofa to sleep on - the ‘Halfway House’ joke was right there, for a start - but the image of Ben’s face at the suggestion stopped him. “Give me a bell tomorrow, all right, and I’m sure I’ll have something sorted for you by then.”

He’d brought his hands back up to rest on the table while he was speaking, and a moment later found them enveloped by Stuart’s again. Stuart’s eyes were glistening with moisture as he said in a cracked voice;

“You don’t know what this means to me, bruv.”

* * *

Three texts and a missed call when Callum retrieved his phone from a locker twenty minutes later. All from Ben.

He fumbled to unlock his phone, swiping it open and returning the call as he joined the stream of visitors making their way out into the winter sunlight. Ben answered almost immediately.

“Hey.”

“Hey! What’s up? You _know_ we’re not allowed our phones in there...”

Ben’s laugh echoed down the phone. “What, me of all people? Yeah, I know that - forgot where you were when I called. Did you see my texts?”

“Nah, not read them yet.” He wandered off to one side to lean against a nearby wall, away from the steady trickle of people leaving the building and heading for the carpark or bus stop. “What’s going on?”

“Well, first things first - I’m here.”

“What?”

“I’m here, I’ve come to pick you up. I’ve borrowed a blue Hyundai from the lot, come find me in the car park.”

It would have taken him much longer to find it - Callum had never been a car person, and wasn’t a hundred percent sure what a Hyundai might look like - but Ben was standing outside the car, leaning against the passenger door with a smug expression on his face that blossomed into a wide smile as Callum approached.

It still made Callum’s stomach flip to see him, hands in his coat pockets, lounging easily against a borrowed car as though the freezing cold prison car park was his own personal kingdom. His own face broke into a mirroring smile as he hurried over, greeting his other half with a quick kiss and a delighted “What are you doing here?”

“Your chariot awaits, sir,” said Ben, opening the passenger door with a flourish.

“You didn’t need to do this,” said Callum happily, clambering inside the car. “I could have got the train.”

Ben didn’t answer, shutting the door on him and moving round to the driver’s side. They didn’t speak for a few minutes, Ben concentrating on negotiating his way out of the car park, though he delivered some choice words to some of the other drivers around them on their driving skills or lack thereof. Mainly expletives. Callum just let it wash over him these days, though he did his best to maintain an air of general disapproval and to never let the indulged amusement he actually felt show on his face.

It wasn’t until they were out of the twisty back roads of an industrial estate and back onto the main road that Ben spoke again.

“So how was it?”

“Good,” said Callum, considering his answer carefully. Ben knew how stressed he’d been. How long it had been since Callum had last visited his brother in person and all the guilt he carried around because of it. “Really good, I think. He...seems a bit more settled than the last time I saw him. He’s out in five weeks.”

“Oh?” Ben shot him a quick glance before turning his attention back to the road. “That’s quicker -than you thought, guess he’s been on his best behaviour.”

“I said I’d find him somewhere to stay,” admitted Callum. “I thought of asking Mick, maybe?”

“Well, as long as you’re not offering him our new sofa-bed, babe,” said Ben cheerfully. “The whole point is to get away from families butting their noses in.”

Callum was quiet for a moment as they pulled up at a traffic light. The light had only just turned red, meaning Ben was able to turn his head and give Callum a hard stare in response.

“You haven’t?” he said in horror.

“No, no!” Callum hastened to clarify. “I may have thought about it for just a second, but I never said it. That sofa-bed is for Lexi’s visits and no one else.”

“Thank fuck for that.”

They drove in silence for several minutes, Callum observing his boyfriend closely as he concentrated on the road. He’d become an expert in Ben Mitchell over the last few months and could usually pinpoint his moods with unerring accuracy; but sometimes the man could be a mystery even to him. Something seemed to be up. There was a slight air of manic cheerfulness hanging around him.

“Why did you really come to pick me up?” asked Callum eventually. “I thought you were busy today. Something happened?”

“Well,” said Ben, spinning the steering wheel as they came off a roundabout. Definitely manic, thought Callum to himself. “I am - ta-dah! - officially no longer a suspect in my Dad’s attack.”

“What?” said Callum, shocked.

“They have - and I swear this is true - found the real culprit.”

Callum realised his jaw was hanging open in shock and closed it. “But...it’s been months. I thought the police stopped investigating. Who is it?”

Ben laughed, his face full of mischievous glee. “The Slaters.”

Callum was even more baffled. “Wait, what?”

Still gleeful, Ben explained. He didn’t know all the details, but piecing it together, it appeared that Phil’s memory of the attack had come back some months ago. Instead of going to the police with the news that he’d remembered Kat Slater and Martin Fowler being there at the time of the attack, for some reason he’d blackmailed them into working for him - presumably on dodgy Mitchell business, though Ben didn’t specify.

“Or maybe the idea came from them, deal to keep themselves out of prison, I dunno,” Ben went on. “But from what I hear, sounds like Kat got fed up of the whole thing or she fell out with Dad or something. She handed herself in, saying it were self-defence, trying to get my Dad done for blackmail.”

“But that’s terrible,” said Callum, trying to process this.

“Nah, he’ll be fine,” said Ben, waving a hand. “There’s no evidence, he weren’t stupid enough to leave a paper trail. Her word against his, they ain’t even arrested him.”

Callum had meant Kat, actually - a single mum with three kids, ending up in prison for defending herself or her family. He couldn’t care less about Phil, if he was honest, even if Ben did; Callum still didn’t know the man very well, but after everything he’d heard about him he had no real desire to change that. The subject of Ben’s family was something of a sore spot between them, one they avoided talking about.

“What’ll happen to Kat?” Callum asked after a short pause.

Ben gave him a pointed look. “She whacked my Dad over the head with a wrench, babe, he nearly died - can’t say I care that much.”

“Oh what, and you’ve never wanted to kill him?”

It came out a little harsher than he’d meant it to, but it had the desired effect. Ben glanced round at Callum’s set face and relented. “Ouch. Low blow. Look, I dunno about Kat. No previous though, the weapon’s long gone, they’ve only got her confession and the call that Fowler made from that phone box, if they can even prove it was him... Half decent lawyer, she might be all right.”

Callum nodded, accepting this. It still didn’t seem fair, but that was life, wasn’t it? “I never thought you did it, you know.”

“I know,” said Ben, and he flashed Callum a bright, genuine smile. “You were about the only one, though.”

He continued to drive, heading for home. Separate homes for now, though not for much longer - and Callum was soppy enough and secure enough to start thinking thoughts like wherever Ben was, that was home. He didn’t say such thoughts out loud, of course - well, not often, anyway - knowing from experience that Ben would deflect with a joke or a filthy comment, or if he couldn’t think of one, stopping Callum from talking with a kiss that would inevitably lead to something more. It was why Callum had started sneaking in the soppy stuff when they were in public or family was around, knowing Ben wouldn’t be able to deflect it with his favourite technique.

He hadn’t even told Ben he loved him, though he’d admitted it to himself a very, very long time ago. He had no doubts that Ben felt the same, though there’d maybe been a few niggling ones for a while, back at the beginning - but now, it shone out of Ben’s face and his every word and action each day they were together. Callum sometimes felt they were both waiting for the other to say it first, like a childish game of Chicken; but with the rocky start that they’d had, and all of Ben’s insecurities and nonsense about Callum being ‘too good’ for him still raising their ugly head from time to time, Callum didn’t dare be the first one to say it. The day would come before too long though, he was sure of that. It was as if both of them were on the edge of saying it every time they looked at each other.

“Are we all right?” he asked Ben, realising that the conversation had stalled for a while whilst he’d been thinking.

Ben glanced at him, looking puzzled. “Babe, we’re good. We’re better than good. We’re--” he paused, obviously trying to think of the right word, before finishing with a dramatic gesture; “--mag _ni_ ficent.”

Callum’s laughter echoed as the car sped on, his heart light as he willed it to go faster and carry them home.


End file.
